Unhenged
by MediEvil Ways
Summary: Ever wondered how Stonehenge was erected? And what for and why? Well, here's a theory …  STORY NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Ever wondered how Stonehenge was erected? And what for and why? Well, here's a theory … Reference: Geoffrey of Monmouth _Historia Regum Brittaniae. _And my own wicked imagination.

Disclaimers: Partly Geoffrey's, partly BBC's. Certainly not mine.

A/N: The average "oh, so that's what you have been doing in your spare time, Merlin"-story with an authentic twist. No slash. Bromance and lots of POWER! (May the Force be with you). ;)

I'm into descriptions, so bear with me, please – the story will unfold eventually. Time frame is set immediately after S3.

I have no beta-reader, so pardon all the grammatical cock-ups and typos. The title, however, is a n intended pun.

**UNHENGED**

– by MediEvil Ways

"_**Ástendeaþ stánas fram éar!"  
><strong>_The diction was clear and hard and echoed at an increasing frequency as majestic giant stones rose from the earth shaking ground to form a semicircle of banter. The surface trembled as the unyielding and massive monuments ploughed their way through Earth and burst into the open at the lanky figure's command. The man stopped momentarily, taking in a whiff of the cool night air to steel himself for the next feat. These stones were heavy and he felt their weight keenly in and on his mind. He idly wondered how long he had been at it; he had started at dusk, and now the moon was almost full which allowed him to see clearly in the dampness despite the small, low set misty clouds that floated right above the ground. A peer would say that he had "awoken the dragon", a Viking would claim that "the bog witch was brewing", yet this young warlock knew that it was merely due to the difference without warmth and coldness that this mist was rising. He looked down, frowning, inhaled sharply and started chanting again; an intense gleam peeked out of his tightly closed eyes.

_**"Ástendeaþ stánas fram éar!"**_

Another giant stone shot through the surface with an impressive tremolo, ripping up turves in the process, and another was instantly on its way through the ground, fuelled by the command of the two elements, Fire and Earth.

The sorcerer took a moment to rest. His slim features glistened with sweat in the pale light as he slid down on the damp grass. Tired, he looked up and beheld the tall, slim stones that now towered above him and he nodded in mute satisfaction.

This was good work. This would do just nicely. The distances between each stone was perfect and the the mathematics of the proportions made sense. And then all of a sudden, he started giggling girlishly. He wondered what the future would get out of this? Almost invariably, people would draw the wrong conclusions when setting eyes upon this imposing monument.

This stone … henge.

_Three months earlier._

"**NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**!"

Bed sheets and linen rustled in shock as the lanky form sat up abruptly, spine rigid as a pole. The scream was quickly replaced by a fast panting and small hyperventilating huffs. The huffs had barely stilled when Merlin's bedroom door was pushed open with a vengeance. An old man, shoulder length hair all ruffled and the night cap awray, stumbled through the door frame, concern etched into his wrinkled old face.

"What? What is it, Merlin? What has happened?"

The young man whiplashed his head to look at the intruder, still not quite sure if he was awake or asleep.

"I … I … - nightmare. I think."

Gaius stopped in his motion and sighed in both relief and slight annoyance.

"My goodness, young man. That lung capacity of yours made me fear you were being attacked by wildren."

The unpleasant memory of giant rats with a dental problem and a yearning for human flesh made the warlock shiver with cold and he drew the blanket more tightly round his impossibly thin shoulders. "Would you like some warm milk?" Gaius suggested softly, reading the sighs correctly.

"No," Merlin said, "I'm … fine."

"You don't **look** fine," Gaius argued, but turned to leave the room, "try to get some sleep, Merlin. With Morgana on the loose and countless of other enemies of Camelot knocking on the door, you're going to need it."

A deep felt sigh left the young sorcerer's lips as he laid down on his cot in another attempt to fall asleep. The moon was full and peered at him through the window with its round, golden eye as if it, too, had magic and was trying to keep him awake on purpose. Its strong light made everything in the room look ghostly and magical and he could almost swear that he saw the tiny dust specks come alive and perform a little dance on the surfaces. The thought made him smile crookedly. Perhaps he should simply dust down the place more often.

With another sigh, he turned to lie on his side, trying to empty his mind and forget the terrible dream he had just had.

The dream in which Morgana was burying him alive.

Forever.

Merlin shivered again.

"You look **terrible." **The crown prince sounded almost disgusted. Prince Arthur being disgusted with his manservant was nothing new, yet it was usually a viewpoint he took when referring to Merlin's servant skills or lack thereof. Very rarely did it apply to the same servant's state of mind.

Merlin was opening the windows in the prince's bedroom and immediately it was like somebody had boosted the sound of the singing birds. The blazing sun made its way through the window and seemed equally positive and jolly, thus belying Merlin's dark state of mind. Merlin pushed the window further open and strangled an involuntary hiss of shock as he caught a glimpse of something in the reflection of the glass. Morgana, beautiful, magnificent and terrible, standing over his own lifeless body that was being encapsulated and showered with unbreakable spells. The young man quickly looked away and his eyes were caught by the permeating sun. He squinted; why was it so light? Merlin shivered despite the warmth of the pushy and eager sun rays. This did not go unnoticed.

"You're **kidding** me – you're actually _cold_? Honestly, Merlin – could you be any frailer?"

Merlin turned and showed Arthur such a face that the prince instantly changed his tune. The abrupt transition was almost comical to watch.

"Merlin," the tone was now softer, "what on earth is the matter? At this point, you're usually 5-10 insults ahead of me."

"I know," Merlin said, silently, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Arthur said, irritably and impatiently, "just tell me what's wrong!"

"Bad night, bad dreams," Merlin supplied willingly.

"Yeah? What about?"

Merlin fed him a complete cock-and-bull story without hesitating. The point was not to worry the prince, who had enough on his mind – and to keep his magic a secret … still. Arthur swallowed it hook, line and sinker and reached out to pat Merlin on his shoulder.

"I'm sure those wildren were double their real size in your dream, Merlin. However, we're out of those tunnels – and chances are we're never going back." His tall manservant shook his shoulders tentatively, trying to get rid of the feeling rather than the hand.

"There!" he said decisively, "It's gone. I shall try to display more mirth, Sire," he attempted cheerfully. "That's better," Arthur murmured, "besides – if you thought **those** beasties were big, you should see the ones that crawl around in some of the dungeons; they're, like,..." he let go of Merlin to use both his hands as a descriptively tool, "THIS huge … and they usually come up by night, when people are fast asleep and ..."

For once it was the servant throwing things at the prince.

The round table stood silently in the middle. The rest of the room was interesting, beautiful with its tapestries and protruding architectural décor; however, as soon as one had entered far enough to see the table in detail, this piece of furniture was what the spectator focused on. It wasn't magnificent or even clad in silver and gold, it was simply … the ambience of the place, the way it was positioned, perhaps – its air.

There was no doubt about it.

This table was important.

This table hosted important debates; this table was the basis for writing history. This table was the very foundation on which the country rested during these troubled times.

Merlin felt it as keenly as everyone else and it was therefore with a certain trepidation that he entered and approached though no one else was present. He stopped in front of it, looking intently at it for a while and then leaned over it:

"Tell me what to do," he urged.

Its surface was polished to the extent that he could see his own reflection in it and he knew and understood with a certain amount of bitterness that the reflection that peered back at him was also the only being able to tell him what to do. The lanky form straightened and sighed. Nothing came easy, did it?

Merlin straightened his red neckerchief self-consciously, still pinning himself in the reflection and then turned to leave …

… and that's when he heard it.

The faintest whisper, but with clear words of such a vileness that it made his hair rise in his neck...

More to come when I have the time. You like? You don't like? Either way, tell me what you think, please. That is the only way I can get better. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Back again! And muchas gracias for your kind encouragement. :) I shall venture to proceed and make it entertaining.

A/N: I quite forgot to make a note and reference on the spell used in chapter 1: _**Ástendeaþ stánas fram éar! **_means something like "Appear, Stones, from the ground". I constructed this from an Olde English on-line translator.  
>In this chapter, you will find the original name for Excalibur: <em><em>_Caledfwlch_, which is Welch and means _battle_ or _hard_ and _breach._ Geoffrey of Monmouth latinised the word and came up with Caliburnus, which later became Excalibur in the French literature. As you will read, I have put a different spin on it. ;)

xxx

Shoulders squared, spine erect and facial expression hard, the Prince of Camelot strode down the almost empty hallway with its tall and colourful tapestries. Young girls who in the past would have squinted at him, giggling, lost in their daydreams about the handsome prince on a white horse of a fairytale country, now averted their glance at the sight of his steely eyes with the sadness so evident in them. Today, the Prince was not to be trifled with; it was in his very countenance, his expression. Arthur had just been with his father, the mad and broken King Uther.

The young man had gone to see the formerly so powerful king to catch a glimmer of hope, yet the sight of Uther and the following session with the court physician had left him none. The situation was grim. Gaius' stony face and his apologetic shake of the same was still fresh in the young, involuntary leader's mind: There was no sign that King Uther would recover any time soon – perhaps ever. Arthur was past tears, past shivering – past hope. His father would never regain his former stature, authority or sound mind. His son, in his place, would have to grow up and fast. Arthur allowed himself the tiniest of deep breaths.

Was he ready?

He'd better! He was about to meet the council of knights of the Round Table.

Arthur stopped right in front of the massive and lavishly decorated oak doors when he felt rather than heard a presence within the room. _Somebody's in there!_ The prince immediately stiffened and slowly … ever so slowly … wrapped his gloved hand round the hilt of his sword ...

… and burst through the heavy doors with a vengeance …

… to see his scrawny manservant, his tall lanky frame bending over the already famous table. Frustration and relief got the better of the prince.

"MERlin! What **are **you doing in here?"

"Erm..."

This vocal utterance was very characteristic of the boy, yet his face caused Arthur to stop his beginning tirade and instead ask: "Mer … what is it? - You look like you've seen a ghost?"

"I … erm ..."

"Merlin?"

Through all their adventures together, Arthur had never seen his servant this pale and … scared to the bone, for the lack of a better term.

"Tell me, Merlin," he urged, his voice keeling over in concern.

"I … seem to have nightmares in broad daylight," Merlin stammered. Not really lie, yet not the whole truth. It would have to do.

Arthur knew at least a dozen insults and teasing remarks that such a statement normally would trigger, but the undiluted fear in his servant's face, made him file them away for later use.

"Perhaps you should see Gaius, Merlin," he suggested, "nightmares when you are awake is not a good symptom."

"Must be the latest strain," Merlin murmured, "after all, it isn't every day the kingdom you live in is about to shatter and fall. I cannot imagine how **you **feel about all this. How is your father?"

Having thus adroitly avoided a dangerous topic and pushed the focus to a person of more immediate concern and importance, Merlin managed to divert Arthur's attention. The young prince's crystal blue eyes instantly hardened.

"He's … there is no change."

"That's tough," Merlin commented gently. Arthur nodded and whispered. "Yes."

He drew himself up. Showing himself weak in front of Merlin was one thing – it was, after all, not the first time he had done so – showing it in front of the entire round table full of the finest knights of Camelot was another. He would have to appear strong – falter was not an option.

"What will you do?" his servant said, recognising the tell-tale signs that Arthur was getting into conference mode. The prince nodded.

"The course of action is to be decided here and now. The knights are on their way; it is time for solutions. We must find a way to strengthen the outposts and neutralise the current threats towards Camelot."

"Not an easy task, " Merlin smiled sympathetically.

"The sorcerers would be the hardest nut to crack," Arthur murmured, lying down his sword on the round table, making the point face the centre. Merlin looked at it. A fine sword – but not fine enough. It should have been the sword treated by the dragon's breath, lying there, serving his prince.

And that's when he got the idea …

"Sire," he said in a low voice, "you need a new sword. You need to wield a legendary sword of importance."

Arthur's brow wrinkled. His servant often talked gibberish. But lately he had become more and more lucid. This time, however, he wondered if the lanky young man was returning to a state of his former idiocy. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice clearly laced with irritation. Yet Merlin ignored his master's beginning annoyance, leaned over and said urgently:

"You need to prove that you are the chosen one. The one to lead all men in battle for freedom and for safety. You need a quest that brings you fame – you need to find and retrieve the greatest sword of them all: - um - the sword in the ... stone. It is called Caledf… I mean_ … ExCALIBUR!_"

Arthur stared at him with wide open eyes.

x

"Excalibur?"

Gaius looked truly perplexed. Merlin cringed, tugging at his red neckerchief.

"Yeah … well, first I was about to call it _Caledfwlch_... I have been doing so in my mind simply to identify it. But then … I thought it sounded too, well, - home-made and then I came up with Excalibur – like a spur-of-the-moment translation."

"Very _mixed_ translation, I daresay," the old court physician deadpanned. "I know." Merlin looked even more uncomfortable. Gaius shook his head.

"Why did you not tell me about this sword before?"

"Um, - it never came up and so many things have happened recently. Kilgharrah was rather annoyed that Uther had wielded it; in fact, for a moment there, I thought he would have my head for barbecue and I just made sure that didn't happen again."

"Is the sword buried firmly in the stone?" Gaius asked, his voice indicating that he would have no more lies or omissions.

Merlin nodded eagerly, "Very much so. I put a spell on it, so it will only do Arthur's bidding. Only Arthur can pull it out again."

"In that case," Gaius mused, "it may not be such a bad idea after all. We could spread the word and create this legend of a sword destined to be freed by the Once and Future King of Camelot and England. It could very well be the quest that gathers the country. What did Arthur think?"

Merlin bit his lip. "Oh, well – you know him. He looked at me as if I were a nutter."

"You can lay off the subjunctive, Merlin, you **are** a nutter, but ever so seldom, you..."

The young warlock interrupted him with a steely eye, "Don't **you** take his side!"

The young prince looked round the table. His eyes flickered momentarily as he squinted to his right. No Merlin or Gwen was present, only the knights. It seemed … wrong somehow. He cleared his throat. The knights immediately turned their heads and looked at him expectantly. They had each laid their sword diagonally to meet Arthur's sword point in the centre of the table. The meeting had started.

"Welcome to the Round Table. I have called you all here that we may find a way to safe keep this kingdom during it crisis. You all know the situation: Enemies are at the gates, our former allies are rethinking their faith in us and the King has been incapacitated. Morgana [here the prince hesitated, his voice wearing thin as if the memory was still painful], the Sorceress, is on the war path after her sister, Morgause's death. She will not hesitate to strike us down if she gets the chance."

He looked up and met every knight's eyes in the assembly.

"Please, let me know your minds."

Gwaine rustled his sword softly. "I say – we shall not leave the initiative to the foes."

Lancelot followed suit: "I say – we must strengthen our defences." Elyan chew his tongue. "I say – we must contact our allies and renew the bonds. Leon put stress on 'politics' and Elyan chimed in again, mentioning 'Guile', and Arthur looked at them with a thoughtful expression. _Politics and Guile_. Sorta what Merlin had suggested ...

x

_Buried alive, Emrys..._

The setting was ripe with black leaves, misty and damp grass and the hard, grey surface of rocks. Somewhere in the vicinity an owl oo'ed softly and jittery little mice rustled the leaves to get away as quickly as they could, their little hearts about to burst from panic.

There was magic in the air..

The lady clad in black to complement her raven hair frowned in concentration, her moth quivering softly as she chanted again. _Buried alive, Emrys_. A breathless sigh escaped her lips. She had felt a slight tremor as her piercing words hit home. The blood red mouth twirled in a cruel smile. Got him! The words had found their target. The slim, willowy figure stooped over the crystal again, still holding her hand over the cauldron.

She would find Emrys. He would pay. He would pay dearly. For the death of her sister, thousandfold pain would find him and destroy him and she would watch and bathe in the sharp triumph of her revenge. Shivering with exhaustion as she lowered the hand, she turned and looked at the small boy that stood in the door frame.

=Is it done, Morgana?= the boy voiced in her mind.

"Yeees," she said out loud, "the bait has been thrown and the fat fish is about to swallow it line, hook and oh, most evil sinker. Thank you for all, Mordred, and thank you, in particular, for telling me ..." she nodded to emphasise her gratitude,

" … who Emrys is!".

The boy smiled cruelly, completely in synch with the bitter and hateful woman in front of him.

xxx

That's it for now. Hope you like this second instalment. Drop me a line and let me know if it is all right so far. And please let me know if I can do something to better the story, language, composition etc. :-)


	3. Chapter 3

Third instalment. Things are progressing slowly. Thanks for your comments so far – and more are welcome. Particularly constructive criticism. What could I do better? What shouldn't I do? Is the language all muddled or is it legible? After all, English is not my mother's tongue, so sometimes I feel like I'm fumbling my way in the dark.

Disclaimers: not mine, of course. (I believe I forgot those at the beginning of chapter 2 – bad me!)

A/N – not much, but a small reference: if you think you have heard the phrase _slime and snails, puppy dogs' tails_ before, you are right. I stole that for fun from David Bowie's _Magic Dance _(song from the film _Labyrinth_). ;)

xxx

This time, at least, he didn't scream. He merely whipped his body up in a straight position and panted like a madman. This time, he had felt the ground close over his head, seen the daylight disappear, never to return, and heard the silent sound of his own breathing, going on forever. Forever buried – alive. Merlin whimpered. Something was definitely wrong; these nightmares did not seek him out night after night for nothing and out of the blue. He was either developing the Sight, or … something else – someBODY else, rather – was afoot. And he really, really needed to find out what or who it was.

"You look terrible! Again!" Gaius exclaimed at the sight of him next morning. "Gee, thanks," Merlin mumbled wryly, putting on a mask of feigned indignation.

"More nightmares?" the old man handed the young one a slice of dark bread and scooted over the jam. Merlin looked at him and suddenly realised that this … this, Gaius had to be made aware of. He sighed and leaned back.

"Yes, Gaius. A recurring, horrible nightmare that I am buried alive – forever."

Gaius cocked an eyebrow. "Recurring?" he said softly, "that is not good." The warlock winced. "I know," and then raised his eyes to pin the physician, "what do you think, Gaius? Do I have the Sight?"

Gaius keenly heard the boundless fear in the young, brittle voice. Still so young and in many ways unspoiled and naïve. Yet, so very old and wise in other aspects – like knowing that death is not the worst thing that could happen to a person. The old mentor sat in front of his protegeé.

"Merlin. Sight or not. You must take your precautions," he said ever so gently, "if it be the Sight, then it is a warning that is to be heeded; if it be the influence of magic, the source must be found and dealt with."

Merlin smiled bittersweetly, "isn't there a third option?"

"Like what?"

"It could be a result of the troubled times we go through at the moment?"

Gaius gave his best apologetic smile, "My boy, that might be the truth of someone else. You, however, being Merlin – a powerful warlock – you can be certain that it is definitely not so innocent."

Merlin looked down, knowing full well that the old man was right.

For once in his life, he wished for normalcy.

x

The day passed like any other day. Swiftly, full of people hoping and people despairing. Tidings from the borders were grim; there was talk of an army closing in on the smaller villages in the upland. Gwen would hear these news and she usually took them to Arthur. Today he had appeared particularly troubled, and his eyes were full of concern when she came to him and became even more heavily burdened as she reported to him. She instantly regretted her news, and he read her reaction just as swiftly.

"No, don't worry, Gwen. It is important that you keep me appraised of the border reports."

"It could be just hearsay," she tried to console him. He shook his head vehemently, "Better safe than sorry. What if the reports are true? We cannot take the chance of ignoring them. I will send more patrols to the upland to clarify the situation and then, I promise you, we will find a solution."

Guinevere sighed and approached him in one step. The tall prince closed his eyes as she put her soft hand on his chin and started stroking it. It was so soft, so soothing, so … tempting. He cleared his throat and drew himself up.

"One day, Gwen," he said hoarsely, "you will be my queen. I swear it."

The lithe, deliciously chocolate coloured woman smiled, took his hand and pressed it towards her silken lips.

"Well, if you swear it," she whispered, "it must be true."

After she had left, it occurred to him that since his father's mental demise, he had been in complete control in the issue of marrying Gwen. _It can happen. I can actually make it happen!_

First, obviously, there was the small matter of the reign being threatened from about all angles.

Details!

Arthur, the prince, smirked and felt better than he had for days. Perhaps Politics and Guile hadn't been such a bad idea. Perhaps his lump of a servant had a point when he'd suggested that he take advantage of a legend. To make a legend and consolidate his position. Unite the kingdom over one cause. His mood markedly lifted, Arthur left his quarters and went to find Merlin.

x

"Where the hell is Merlin?"

Hands on his hips and a rigid spine, Arthur had never looked so like the part: an impatient royal prat! Gaius could suddenly see it.

Trying to hide a smile and failing at it miserably, Gaius pointed at the direction of the library.

"He's with Geoffrey, Sire."

"What, reading?" Arthur said with a certain amount of disgust. "At this hour? Whatever for?"

The old man shrugged. "When else? The rest of the time, he's doing chores for you, Sire – and for me."

Ignoring the not-so-veiled insult, Arthur turned on his heel and instantly pursued the trail. Even if it did take him to the library.

Library! Why would Merlin bury himself in the library?

"He is studying astrology, Sire" Geoffrey of Monmouth said, his voice tinged with the slightest hint of disgust. Obviously learned students did not troubled themselves with something as 'popular' as astrology. This, however, was completely lost on Prince Arthur. The two of them proceeded through the ancient corridors of the dusty, wooden library, stepping on the occasional cockroach and making scrolls flutter in the slipstream as they hurried past vast amounts of ancient documents.

The young servant was sitting in the middle of a heap of books and scrolls, so completely deeply embedded in what he was reading that he didn't even flinch when the two men entered his space. Arthur looked down at him and then cleared his throat. Slowly Merlin lifted his head and fixed two unfocused eyes at his master.

"Yes?"

His voice was almost annoyed to the brink of insolence. He was in his own world, far away from his position as humble servant to another man and two entities were disturbing his circles.

Contrary to Archimedes, though, Merlin survived his attitude – barely.

"Whattayoumeanbythat!" the prince cried in a burst of outrage. Geoffrey stepped back cautiously; this was an argument he did not wish to be a part of. Merlin's eyes slowly refocused as he gradually understood the situation.

"Oh. I mean. How can I help you?" His tone of voice was still not quite to Arthur's liking – there was still this 'well, if I **have** to be polite'-intonation about it.

"**How can I help you, SIRE!**" the prince roared.

Merlin bit his lip to hold back the obvious saucy reply and simply remarked "okay", at which point Arthur's hue was becoming unhealthy. "I'll go now," Merlin hastened to add, leaving his tower of literature with a hiss. Geoffrey stepped forward and halted the hasty young warlock.

"You will not leave until you have put each and every document back into place, young man," he stressed, clearly indicating that this was not open for discussion.

Arthur rubbed his nose ridge. "Typical," he grumbled, "just typical! You utter **one** sentence of interest and voice something that sounds like a good idea – and then you go ruin the entire impression by behaving like a total idiot!"

"I had a good idea?" Merlin beamed. "Don't look so smug," his master warned him, "it was a chance comment – the one about a quest to unite the country."

"Oh," Merlin said softly. Excalibur. He sniffed. Chance comment, indeed. Suddenly he was back to being affronted.

"Well, if you don't mind, _Sire_ – I have some tidying up to do here. It is, after all, my spare time which I may use as I like."

Arthur gritted his teeth and looked askance at Geoffrey. As much as he liked to haul Merlin's sorry arse to the stables, he could not afford to lose his temper in public. The new situation called for a calm leader. So he left with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Report to me as soon as you are done here," he snapped.

x

Merlin returned to his quarters before going back to Arthur's chamber. He had mentally copied the important parts and facts of his research and was ready to form a theory: the construction of a force area to save his soul from eternal damnation and isolation. The stars would help him do this. An hour later he had formulated the first sketchy plan. More research, particularly in the magical department, was needed, but for now he had the first draft of his counter move to being buried alive. Not that there was any guarantee that it would work.

The young sorcerer sighed heavily. Well, at least he was doing something.

x

The market place was not packed with people as it used to be during the peaceful times of Uther's reign. Arthur's father may have been hell-bent on eradicating magic to a degree that spoke volumes about a damaged mind, but the times had been, in general, peaceful compared to earlier times. And compared to now. The uneasy whisper of the oncoming onslaught over threatened borders made the people stay at home behind closed shutters and doors. Very few merchants ventured into the street, which left the daily market place almost deserted. Even the few brave souls that had decided to thwart their inner warnings kept their booth as closely to the city walls as possible. For what if?

Guinevere and Gaius snuck from one corner to the other; they, too, felt the oppressive atmosphere heavily on their heads. It had to change, Gaius thought, depressed, we are reverting to the times before Uther became king and this is not why I helped capture most of my sorcerer friends. The remembrance of it made him cringe. Yet it had been necessary; so many of them had been evil and more than once had Gaius had to realise that absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Except in one. One sorcerer had given him hope, one sorcerer had so far proven to be destined for greatness with the only intent to help rather than to annihilate. Merlin. Merlin was worth everything bad that had happened in the past.

"Gaius," Gwen said, this time a little louder. Was the old man going deaf? Gaius started. "Yes, my dear?"

"We still need so many items. What shall we do? Go directly to people's homes and buy them at the door?"

"That is not a bad idea," Gaius murmured, turning to give the next merchant his full attention.

"Do you have bat wing?"

"All out," the impossibly thin man in front of him said. "Are you getting some later in the week?"

The thin man looked at him with deep regret in his eyes, "Nothing can reach us these days, gov'. There is either a blockade out there or people are simply too frightened to come anywhere near Camelot."

Gaius swore under his breath. Something had to be done. Without even thinking, he muttered:

"I wish someone **would** tear that sword out of the stone. Then we would have found our saviour."

The thin man cocked an eyebrow, "Eh?".

"Nothing, - nothing," Gaius smiled reassuringly and paid for the toad tongue he had bought to replace the bat wing.

As they were walking back towards the castle with their shopping, Gwen turned to Gaius and asked him curiously: "What was that about a sword?"

"Hum? Oh, nothing, Gwen," Gaius replied - "just an old legend," he added thoughtfully, "an old legend."

Gwen looked at him with both her eyebrows crawling up her forehead. She remembered a sword once – the best and finest sword her father, god rest his soul, had ever made. She wondered idly what had become of it.

x

_**Slime and snails – puppy dogs' tails!**_

The smoke from the cauldron rose in the air and became darker every time the words were delivered. The beautiful dark woman with the long wavy hair huffed in fatigue and stepped back from the hot fire.

It was becoming increasingly more difficult to force the images upon Emrys. She keenly felt how he was fighting her all the way. And he was powerful. Oh, so powerful; she felt the amazing sizzling electricity through every metaphysical tendril she sent in his direction. Then she smiled. But they were two. There was no way Emrys could win. The united strength and force of Morgana and Mordred would bring down the legendary and renowned Emrys and they would make sure the legend's destiny would never be fulfilled. But they would have to move quickly. Emrys' powers were growing exponentially every time she pushed him.

With a bare whisper and a concentrated brow, the king's former warden sent out a magical conduit to attach itself to Emrys and left the tiniest lead to herself. The instant this conduit was subjected to magic embedded in ancient powers, she would sense it – and know that Emrys was preparing precautions.

Even better, she would be able to trace it and him.

xxx

End of chapter 3. I have no idea how many chapters this story is going to entail, so who knows when it will be done. However, I'm having good fun here and I hope you are too. Thanks you for reading and stand by for more once I have the time. :-)


	4. Chapter 4

Back again. I hear that season 4 has aired in the UK and that all British fans are now jumping up and down for the next episode. Lucky you! Here in Denmark, we will have to wait.

A/N – I have done a little research, and according to my findings, dragonlords talk to their 'pet' in Homeric Greek (and why the _**heck **_is that?). Oh, dear. I have tried, but if there are any Greeks here, they must forgive my sorry attempts. The few words I dug up should mean _I summon you, come hither_. And T.S. Eliot-lovers might recognise the expression _not with a bang, but with a whimper_; sorry for the anachronism – couldn't resist it, mate. ;)

xxx

"Reporting as ordered, _**Sire**_."

Merlin was still miffed at the attitude Arthur had taken with him in the library and had no qualms communicating this to the prince in a not-so-subtle way.

Arthur sighed. His servant was clearly still mad with him. The rigid youth stood in front of him in a mock tin soldier posture, short of saluting. The sun was set low on the shy and fell through the window in Arthur's chambers, making the hurt expression on Merlin's face painfully obvious.

"Look … Merlin. I'm sorry I barked at you, okay?"

Merlin's features instantly softened. They had perfected this give-and-take routine over the years and now needed very little time to forgive each other.

"Okay. I'm sorry too – I bit at you."

Arthur nodded. "Let's keep these banters to ourselves, all right? In these troubled times an upset prince and an insubordinate servant is not what the people need to witness."

Merlin swallowed hard and nodded in consent. His royal pratness was right. They had to think of how they appeared to the scared people that looked to them for reassurance.

"On a more encouraging note," Arthur continued and moved to the table where he sat and offered Merlin a chair, "... it seems that the Round Table approved of a political and guileful approach to the current situation. So … tell me more about this sword."

"Sword?" Merlin glared at him in disbelief and did not take the offered chair.

"Yes, Merlin – the sword you told me about … Calista...fwer? Exsalta...tor?"

Merlin giggled loudly and finally sat on the chair, beaming.

"Excalibur!" he exclaimed.

"That's it!"

Merlin hesitated for a nanosecond before presenting the prince with a story. He had to be careful and compose the legend without any hint of his own part in the story.

"It is ancient," he said slowly, "a sword to conquer all swords. It cannot be broken, it cuts through steel. Once you have it, no one can vanquish you."

Arthur nodded in anticipation. "All very good, Merlin, but where's the quest in obtaining it?"

Merlin grinned. So Arthur had understood the value of history making by legend.

"It was buried in a stone so that only the chosen leader that was destined to unite the country and bring peace to the kingdom could pull it out again."

"A...HA … and I get it out … how?"

"You … pull it out, Sire."

Arthur looked annoyed. "I got **that** much, Merlin. You may think of me as a royal prat, but I'm not stupid." Merlin offered no comment to this. "HOW do I pull it out of the stone if it is so thoroughly embedded?"

"You put your hands round the hilt and pull … Arthur, you don't understand: You were destined to retrieve this sword! You **will** be able to pull it out."

Arthur rose, now even more annoyed. "That's nonsense, Merlin. How could I do that, it's physically impossible. And how did it end up in that stone to begin with? The only way for it to be buried so deep that nobody can get it out is if it was put there by ma .._**aa**_ …."

Realisation hit the prince; he swayed for a bit, fixing his eyes on his servant in shock.

"Noo _**oooo**_..." he hissed, pointing at Merlin. "Okay," Merlin admitted quickly, his voice now a little concerned, "it may have been placed there by magic – but probably not a lot, just a _little _bit. Not even that, in fact, a teenie, weenie ..."

Arthur went to him in two long steps and took him by the collar, "**Don't** tell me...".

"It's just what I have **heard**, Arthur."

"What would it _look _like, Merlin – Uther's son taking advantage of _**magic **_– that would be the same as condoning it!"

"Perhaps that would make the magical people lay off – they would see it as an omen – a sign that you should rule."

Arthur let go of the young man's collar and then turned to ponder the issue. "There is that," he murmured, "but my father would never ..."

"Begging your pardon, Sire," Merlin said silently, but firmly, "your father is not the leader now. _**You**_ are. You must make your own decisions."

Arthur was taciturn and Merlin held his breath, clearly realising that probably no one else could have spoken to Arthur the way he'd just done. The fact made him feel proud.

"Healing the country," Arthur finally murmured, "making peace between magical and non-magical people. Crossing the rift."

"_**AAHHHAAH!**_"

Merlin's scream came so unexpected that Arthur drew his sword as a reflex; he quickly discarded it when he saw his trusted servant writhing in pain. "MERLIN! What is it? Where does it hurt?"

_Everywhere_.

"It's … a terrible headache," Merlin panted, completely out of breath, "something like migraine."

Arthur nodded. "That can be vicious. You should go lie down."

Merlin acquiesced, eyeing a possibility to gain time for his project.

"When I get like this .. I'm usually ill for days …."

Arthur frowned. "I don't like the sound of that. I need you these coming days. Go home now and get well - I'm sure Gaius can help you with some remedy – and then be ready for work tomorrow."

Merlin staggered out of the prince's chamber, the violent impression still hurting his head. That part hadn't been play acting. He still shivered with the memory of the words.

_**Buried alive, Emrys.**_

The young warlock forced his legs to carry him to Gaius. He would get something for the headache and then he would be off on his way as soon as he had found a suitable location. It would have to be tonight and Prince Arthur would just have to cope without him for a couple of days.

x

A young, long and slim finger rested on the map in the south end of England. An old, wrinkled and seasoned face loomed above it.

"There? Why that place in particular?"

The young man looked considerably better, one of Gaius' powders having done its work. He was now ready and rearing to go as the moon was high on the night sky. There were no clouds and finding his way would be easy. He would, however, also be easy to spot.

"According to my research and the astrological calendar that is the place where the constellation will be perfectly positioned – tomorrow night. Next time would be in a month."

"And you can't wait? What about the imminent threat to Camelot? Arthur needs you."

"Camelot needs a warlock of sound mind and body. I am neither while these nightmares, night or day, haunt me."

"Are they really that bad?" Gaius asked softly, "tell me – what exactly do you see?"

Merlin was about to open his mouth, but then realised that no words could ever fully describe the horrid feeling of being buried alive with the darkness that closed in on one and the sensation of being restrained – constantly. Instead, he instinctively reached for his mentor's face, gently landing the tip of his fingers at the base of his skull. Then closed his eyes as they began to flash golden. Gaius didn't even have time to wonder what that was about when impressions and moving pictures almost at once flooded his mind. He whimpered silently; he was now seeing and hearing exactly what Merlin had been subjected to these past few days.

Merlin let go of Gaius in the softest possible way and still the old man felt as if he was being ripped out of existence. It took him a moment to catch his breath, collect himself and find his footing. "That was truly horrible," he rasped. Merlin looked at him with sadness. "I'm sorry," he breathed, "but this was the only way I could make you truly understand."

Gaius nodded, "A new feather in your cap? I didn't know you could do that." The young man smiled gently in a rueful way, "Neither did I."

Gaius threw Merlin a quick glance; his powers were growing fast these days – as if Destiny knew what was coming. He hoped with all his heart that the young man could adapt in time to use it and not be consumed by it.

"Still," the court physician said, clearing his voice, "I don't see how you could make it. That trip is going to take you at least two days."

"Not necessarily," Merlin smiled, commenting on his mentor's concern. "Preparing the place and setting it up will actually take a lot longer than the trip."

Gaius cocked one eyebrow and then almost immediately understood.

"Kilgharrah," he concluded.

x

_Ah, drakan, καλέω, δεῦτε!_

The warlock gazed into the night, never doubting that his words would call the great dragon to him; in a few minutes, his faith was confirmed and the familiar swoosh of a large wing span reached his ears. The huge reptilian silhouette stood clearly against the oval, yellow moon and it took only Kilgharrah a few seconds to dive through the air and park itself at Merlin's feet. The beast bowed, showing his brother respect. Merlin bowed back.

"How can I be of assistance to you, young warlock," Kilgharrah asked, still humble.

Merlin had been thinking about the formulation of his request – one couldn't very well just say 'I need a ride, dude'. At least this time his reason for summoning the dragon was more valid that the last time when he simply had a question.

"Will you help me secure my dying soul?"

Kilgharrah blinked. Whatever he had expected, this was not it.

"Are you dying, Merlin?" there was sadness in his voice.

"Not yet, but I will be."

The dragon blinked, none the wiser. Merlin expounded, "I believe the witch Morgana is planning to bury me alive."

He knew what effect Morgana's name had on great dragon and was not disappointed.

"The witcccchh," Kilgharrah hissed. "Tell me more!"

"She is planning to capture me and imprison my soul and body forever, buried alive for all eternity."

"And you know this how?"

"I've been having dreams ..."

"Be careful, Merlin," Kilgharrah emphasised, narrowing his eyes, "dreams are inconclusive at best and can be as treacherous as the visions in the Crystal Cave. How do you know, for instance, that the nightmares have not been suggested to you?"

Merlin nodded, clearly having contemplated this, "I do not. However, if they have been suggested to me by an outside force, it is still a threat that I have to address. The precautions I have planned are targeted on both explanations."

The great dragon nodded its massive head. The young warlock had obviously grown; merely a few years back, he would not have looked at the matter from all sides, but simply plunged himself into the thick of it.

"Very well," it lowered its scaly face to pin the dragonlord with its yellow, luminescent reptilian eyes, "what do you have in mind?"

Shortly after, Merlin rediscovered that wonderful feeling of flying through the frisky air. Kilgharrah's scales were somewhat damp in the dewy night and made it difficult for the rider to stay in balance, and the cold breeze whipped in his face; yet none of this could deprave the sorcerer of the magnificent feeling of … freedom.

He was on his way! The plan was about to be set in work. For the first time in days, Merlin felt positive that his future was secure.

x

Forms and shapes gave the appearance of being monsters lurking in the night; the huge oak cupboard loomed over the visitor and the solid table with the demonic carvings could be mistaken for a crouching bear. The room was pit dark. Even the slightest beam of light made the once so powerful and towering king squirm and cringe in fear.

"No not the light," the tall man whimpered pathetically. "Not the light,".

His son looked at him with disgust and then instantly hated himself for it.

_So this is the way a mighty king ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper_, he thought bitterly. Of all the endings his father could have suffered, this was the worst. The young prince shivered. No son should be forced to see his father like this. Stripped of authority, devoid of dignity. Merely a quivering heap of human collapse.

Guilt rippled through his body like an unstoppable tide and he reached out to touch the crouching shadow of a man. "There, there," he soothed, "All will be well. Your son is here and will make everything right again." He stroked the seasoned cheek and added with an intense hiss, "I swear it."

Then he leaned back again, resting his spine against the stone wall. His father was not sitting or lying in the luxurious bed. He was cowering in a corner.

"I wish I could talk to you about my dilemma," he said out loud not looking at his father, who, for all intents and purposes, wasn't there. "I have a unique chance to mend this kingdom, to offer a peace that will unite all and not just non-magical people. There might be a way to extend a hand and limit coming atrocities and death tolls. Yet I hesitate to take that chance. I hesitate to free myself of my upbringing and your influence." Forbidden tears were glistening on his cheeks. "All my life, you have stressed the importance of fighting sorcery. Again and again you have indoctrinated me with the fact that sorcery _**is**_ evil and should be annihilated."

The prince turned his head, finally, to look at his father's face. There was no reaction but the same: a look of confused terror; this, more than anything, proved to him that there was no hope for King Uther. Otherwise, the mentioning of even a hint of an outstretched hand towards magic would have awoken his fire.

Prince Arthur rose on shaking legs and sighed.

"I must find my own way, father. For now, I will concentrate on conventional means, but I might turn to the unconventional outstretched hand in the end."

He put his hand on the door leading out of his father's room and whispered:

"I might."

x

And somewhere far away, a huge dragon landed on the soft turf with a hiss and a thump. The night was still and clear and a young dragonlord and warlock went to work.

xxx

So what do you think? Is everything going to Merlin's plan? Or Morgana's? To find out, you just have to read on as I upload the next chapters. ;)

Bye, bye for now. As usual, comments, corrections, questions et al. are more than welcome. Because let's face it – I'm really just raving around in the dark here. :-D


	5. Chapter 5

Still with me? If you are reading this, you are and thank you ever so much for that. :)

A/N Not too much reference stuff in this chapter, except, of course, the following spell: __Anal nathrach___, orth' bhais's bethad, do che'l de'nmha _that – and I am sure any vivid Merlin fan has already recognised these words – come from the ultimate (in my humble opinion) King Arthur-film by John Boorman, _Excalibur_. If you haven't seen the film, do it **now**! It is SO worth it. The phrase itself – Gaelic, I believe it is – supposedly means _Serpent's breath, charm of death and life, thy omen of making_.

xxx

More merchants than usual were out this morning, Gwen concluded as she approached the market. Greengrocers were scuttling in and out of the booths carrying roots, cabbage and apples, a lone tinker hammering away, butchers slamming different animal body parts on their slabs and a barber sharpening his knives on a stone. Gwen spotted a florist and made her way towards a middle-aged woman in a brown dress and a green scarf. She was excited – obviously all this busy activity meant that people were gaining trust in a safe future again. That is … until she saw how everybody was fretting, and not in a good way. The young maid reached out her basket and asked the florist:

"What's the buzz, Madam? Do you know? - oh, some from the black bucket, some from the green and the brown, please"

The madam hastily, her hands even shaking, filled Gwen's basket with goldilocks, roses and cornflowers.

"Haven't ye heard, young miss?"

Gwen shook her head, urging the florist to continue.

The older woman leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, hisses coming out of the gaps in her teeth: "They're coming from the sea, they say. In thousands! The bloody Vikings are coming to conquer everything. They will pillage, rape and burn their way to Camelot!"

Gwen gasped sharply. Oh, this couldn't be true. Surely the woman was exaggerating.

"Who are saying, this, Madam?" she asked, trying to sound calm, collected and unconcerned.

"The travellers, innit?" the answer was.

The purchase was concluded. Gwen wasted no time, but immediately went to the butcher to see if the tidings were the same everywhere. One swallow did not make a summer. But they were! And the butcher knew of yet another confusing detail.

"Yeah, they wanna be in on it, don't they? And who can blame 'm?"

"What?" Gwen was shaking her head in confusion, "in on what?" The tall, broad butcher leaned over to wheeze his foul breath into her ear. "The sword, innit? They are here for the sword. The sword that grants pow'r over all England!"

"What?"

For once Gwen had gone to Gaius with the tidings first and rightly so. The sword that the royal physician had talked about had, all of a sudden, resurfaced in town gossip. Gaius leaned over the table. "Are you saying that people are talking about _the sword_?"

Gwen shrugged. "I don't know which sword, Gaius. But it sounded mightily like the sword you were murmuring about yesterday."

"Impossible," Gaius mumbled, "... and yet. Public gossip is like the unstoppable fire. It travels fast."

But not this fast, Gaius realised, chances were that only 15-20 people knew of it so far and obviously this butcher was one of them. However, if these 15-20 people thought of it as the ultimate truth, it would spread and become a fact within very few days, the amount of people gossiping about it growing exponentially every hour. _Amazing_.

Gaius turned to Gwen.

"You must tell Arthur. If there is any truth in the Viking threat, he and his knights must deal with it."

"And the sword story?"

"By all means," Gaius smirked. It might expedite matters.

Gwen found Arthur trying to dress himself and grumbling with irritation. By the knock on the door he had thought that it would finally be Merlin and quickly and self-consciously covered himself as he saw the beautiful and lithe maid enter.

"Oh! It's you! Errrmm – hang on!"

Gwen smirked and turned obediently her back to a discontent prince:

"SO typical! Leaving me here to do everything myself! Just **wait** till I get my hands on him."

"Merlin hasn't been here, then?" Gwen concluded, still her back to the blushing prince.

"No," he growled, "I mean, I know he was feeling poorly yesterday, but I was **sure** he would be well today."

Gwen's brow furrowed. She hadn't seen the young manservant in Gaius' laboratory. Perhaps he really was very ill.

"Do you want me to call in on him, Sire?"

"No – I'll do that myself. You can turn around now, Gwen."

She turned slowly and found … a prince with his cape inside out on his shoulders.

"What?" Arthur asked as the girl in front of him bend over, breathless with mirth.

x

Gaius' phials and jars were, as usual, on the table helter skelter. They were never really removed from the surface and as a result, dust reigned relentlessly on every spot that wasn't covered by some kind of laboratory item. It looked particularly embarrassing with the sun streaming through the windows and dancing over the specks with a certain mocking zest, disclosing a vast amount in the air as well. Embarrassing, that is, to a woman, neither Gaius nor Merlin had any problem living like this, Gwen concluded with disgust. _Bachelors_!

She had knocked on the court physician's door to enquire about his young assistant, and Gaius had left her momentarily to check on his protegée. Eventually, he came down the few steps that lead to Merlin's room.

"He's still rather knocked out," he whispered and tiptoed as if to avoid waking the patient, "I gave him a tonic that should rid him of that terrible migraine he got yesterday."

Gwen lowered her voice accordingly.

"Well, when he comes round, you can warn him that Arthur is on the war path." She giggled girlishly, "our mighty prince doesn't like being left to deal with his own clothing."

Gaius dealt her a wry smile. He didn't exactly enjoy lying to Gwen like this, yet he consoled himself with the view that it was actually for her own good. In no way should she be involved with the doings of the warlock. The old man nodded.

"I shall tell him as soon as he wakes up. Thank you, Gwen."

She smiled happily – the way she always did when she had just been with Arthur – and left Gaius to his ministrations.

The second she was out of the laboratory, Gaius moved with a speed belied by his advanced age. He jumped up the staircase to Merlin's room and barged in.

Had Merlin been lying there, sick, he would verily have been awoken and his migraine worsened; as it was, merely the dust bunnies made for a hasty escape while Gaius fetched clothes and extra pillows from a cupboard and pushed it all under Merlin's blanket. Afterwards, he assessed his handiwork, shook his head in the realisation that something was missing and returned to the cupboard. After a couple of minutes of search, he emerged with the top of a mop. The mop was dark brown, almost black with dirt and it would do nicely, the old mentor decided, satisfied. He bent and stuffed it underneath the blanket, leaving some of it in plain view on the pillow. Then he pulled back to view the spectacle.

Not bad, not bad. In fact: perfect! It was Merlin down to a tee.

Then he jumped as a decisive knock on the door echoed through the lab.

Just in time.

x

The pang felt keenly through the conduit and the tall, slim lady with the burning eyes gasped in both pain, exhilaration and relief. It worked! The tendril was sending her a signal that Emrys had moved and was travelling. Now, all she needed to find out was where he was. And for this, she needed Mordred. She turned and paced through the cave, her determined steps enforced by the acoustics of the place.

"Mordred. Brother," she said softly and reached out a hand. The boy was instantly by her side, granting her that eerie little smile, he favoured.

=Did you feel the signal, Sister?= he thought to her.

"Yes," she answered, "he is on route, but I don't know where."

=Then I will help you trace the signal.=

"There is something else," the witch said, her brow wrinkling in confused concern. "It is as if … he is travelling in a cloud or mist of pure … power. The sensation is very fast – and much more than I would be able to handle," she admitted. The face of the young boy hardened.

= He might be travelling with a dragon. The legend states that Emrys is a dragonlord.=

Morgana gasped, "What does that mean? How can we get to him, then?"

Mordred took her hand, sending calming feelings through the physical and mental bond they shared.

=Patience, Sister,= he projected to her, =we will wait till the dragon has left him. He will be drained by then – and vulnerable.=

_**Vulnerable.**_

Morgana smiled cruelly with happy delight at the thought.

x

"How is he?"

Arthur hadn't done a very good job of dressing himself. That much was certain, Gaius realised, as he set eyes on the dishevelled prince.

"Still sleeping heavily, Sire. I am afraid my healing potion has knocked him out."

"I don't understand," the prince said, annoyed. "Migraines don't usually last this long."

"I beg to differ, my Lord," Gaius corrected him, "Migraines can last several days and this one appears to be particularly nasty."

Arthur's annoyance disappeared and was replaced by genuine concern.

"Well – hum – I'm sorry to hear that. Can I just … peek in and wish him a swift recovery?"

"He's sleeping, you know, but if you can whisper your good wishes and not disturb him at all..."

"I won't. I promise," Arthur guaranteed, by now really worried about his trusty servant.

Gaius led the prince to Merlin's room, tiptoeing all the way to reinforce the illusion. Arthur stuck his head in and saw the dark mop of hair on the pillow with its 'neck' facing the door. He smiled ruefully.

"I'm sorry, buddy," he murmured silently, "you really look awfully under the weather. Hope you'll be well soon – and back at work."

Then he retreated and turned to Gaius.

"How long do you suppose he...," he started, still whispering.

"It might be a couple of days," Gaius whispered back, keeping up the pretence.

"Right," Arthur said "If he does recover in a couple of hours, could you tell him to find me immediately? There are ill tidings from the borders and the sea and we may be forced to leave soon." Gaius nodded and Arthur left their quarters with a sigh.

Gaius sighed too. If Arthur left now on account of the tidings that Gwen and several others had brought him, their one good hope of peace to the country would be utterly without protection.

"_You couldn't have chosen a more ill-suited time, Merlin_, he thought.

x

An hour after Kilgharrah had lifted him off the ground, Merlin's impressive means of transport had landed him on top of the chosen hillside. The warlock had asked the great dragon to stay a while and they had already been working for several hours when the first whiff of morning air started to blow away the mist of the night.

"How long will you need me, Merlin?" his partner in crime asked.

"I'm not sure," Merlin murmured, "It is the first time ever I have tried to prepare a protection temple." He chanted yet another spell that ended in an energy flow directed at Kilgharrah. The dragon responded by breathing on the energy outburst which set it on fire. The effort made Merlin sweat and huff with exhaustion.

"You have been at it for hours, young warlock," Kilgharrah said with empathy, "you must rest at some point."

"I have little time," Merlin mumbled, getting ready for another energy outburst.

"Well, then I need a break," his scaly friend said and moved aside.

Merlin sighed and followed his friend. Without the dragon's cooperation, the spells couldn't be finalised anyway. Heavily, he sat on the damp grass next to Kilgharrah.

"You need to address another problem, young friend," the dragon pointed out. Merlin looked at him. "The matter of obscurity – or rather, the lack thereof."

Merlin looked around them. True enough. Dawn was breaking and as the hillside was the highest point in the area, they would soon be visible.

"I see," he said in a tired voice, "- and the invisibility shield I have upheld through the night will not be strong enough to mask us during day."

".. and it has weakened you." the dragon reminded him, looking at the frail boy with concern. Merlin was shivering and paler than the moon had been.

"Then what do I do, Kilgharrah. I can't just wait till next night to continue. This will take days even if I go on without any breaks. I haven't even started erecting the stones yet!"

The dragon blinked, not taking the slightest offence from the warlock's tone; he knew it wasn't directed at him, but rather at the frustrating situation.

"I have a suggestion," he said ….

x

"The time has come..."

The royal words echoed in the great hall. Arthur hid a shiver. It felt so awkward standing there where his father should have stood. Yet, now it befell him to present words that would move minds and hearts, instil courage and perseverance.

"The time has come to act! I have just received word that a relentless enemy will be upon us if we do not fall upon him first."

Arthur stepped down from the throne space for effect and went from one captain to the other, fixing them with what he hoped was a steely glance.

"They have landed on the southern shores and they will not stop until they have reached their goal: Camelot. It is important that we take them by surprise and never let them gain foothold in this country. You have trained for this day all your life ..." he landed a heavy hand on the man's shoulder, "this is what you were born for!"

More could be said, more courage could be instilled. Arthur wisely saved some for the army speech. Then he turned to Sir Leon. "We ride immediately. The larger part of the army will remain here to protect the people; I, the Knights of the Round Table and 500 men will travel to the south. We **will** intercept and eradicate those who mean us harm."

"_**Make it so!**_" the prince roared.

Everyone instantly left to carry out the royal orders, in the process generating a noisy rustle of armour, shields and swords being picked up and packed. Arthur swung an arm to catch hold of Gaius, who had been standing Merlin-lessly by his side, and said in an attempt to deafen the activity. "I would have preferred to have Merlin by my side, yet perhaps it is better this way. Now, I don't have to protect his sorry arse, at least. When he wakes up, tell him to stay put."

_Not a problem_, Gaius thought. "I shall, Sire," he said out loud.

Keeping this from Merlin was not the issue – how to get the news that the prince was actually coming his way, on the other hand, was one.

x

__Anal nathrach___, orth' bhais's bethad, do che'l de'nmha – ___Anal nathrach___, orth' bhais's bethad, do che'l de'nmha – ___Anal nathrach___, orth' bhais's bethad, do che'l de'nmha_

As the words rose rhythmically and repeatedly, the clear air disappeared and was replaced by a thick soup of damp mist that quickly spread and lay like a woollen blanket all over the area. Beads of sweat mixed with mist rolled down Merlin's face as the dragon's breath enveloped everything in the vicinity. When the warlock stopped chanting, nothing could be heard but the heavy breathing of the imposing dragon. Not a bird, not a mouse rustling, nothing – everything was still. Then Merlin let out his abated breath.

"Cooool," he awed, "talk about cloaking up!"

"You and your actions now remain completely shielded from curious eyes," the dragon assured him, "however, though the sound has been effectively dulled, particularly high pitched noise will make it through. Bear this in mind, Merlin."

"I shall, I shall," Merlin emphasised, unable to stop grinning. The dragon continued:

"Whenever you need this cloak, you are but to use the spell. Yet, you must take heed of one important fact: My breath will drain your energy, young warlock. Do not use it excessively or indiscriminately."

Merlin nodded, "I can feel what you mean. For how long will this mist work?"

"Depending on the weather, all day, at least."

"I shall rest, then. Thank you, Kilgharrah. You are free to go for now. Please return at noon."

The shiny dragon bowed its head. "I shall, my brother. Rest and be safe from peril."

Kilgharrah took off with a minimum amount of effort, clearly tired from the ordeal, and Merlin lay down on the humid turf and fell almost instantly into a – for once – dreamless sleep.

xxx

TBC … (and that's a promise).


	6. Chapter 6

Hello again and thank you for your kind comments. :-) I shall endeavour to continue the story as quickly as possible.

A/N More notes this time. History buffs will have to forgive me in advance: I have been messing with the timeline here and let one, rogue Viking war party hit the British coast about 300 years before their time. All intended, I assure you. ;-) As for language, I only let them speak Norse when I need to express the British confusion. The rest of the time, they speak English. Oh, and one tiny detail: It's not really Norse (my keyboard doesn't do Runes), it's modern life Danish, but I believe the effect is the same on English speaking readers. If anyone is interested in what the Vikings are actually saying, let me know and I'll translate it in the next instalment. For now, I just wanted you to get the same impression as the poor Brit that is subjected to the Vikings.

xxx

They had been on the trail for almost a day, making merely short breaks, when they decided to let the soldiers rest for food. The shadows were growing long, the air frisky and the bellies were growling. Sir Elyan spotted a farm on open land that would serve well as a lookout while they rested and a scout was sent before them to request passage and alert the farmer to their arrival. Not, that it was strictly necessary; the farmer's livestock and dogs had already sensed them and were now alerting their master in their own and very efficient way.

The farm was constructed merely from flat bricks and clay, yet seemed to house a family of more than ten people; the farmer himself appeared to be of stocky build, years of hard work and sparse living having honed his stature and muscle tone. Behind him stood his wife, almost as stocky as him, cradling a baby in her arms and shielding several children of various age. They were all watchful, not knowing what this army of heavily armed soldiers wanted from them.

Ten minutes later, the stocky man's shoulders fell and settled into a relaxed posture. Arthur's 500 men could move forward and eat their meal in peace on the farmer's land.

As they sat down on stones and tree stumps, Arthur waved for the farmer to approach. The man scuttled over, head piece humbly in his hands.

"Yessire?"

"What is your name?"

"Keogh, my Lord"

"I wish to thank you, Keogh, for letting us rest on your land. We are forever grateful to your good will. I hope you understand that we are here to protect you."

"From the invaders? Yessire. I reckoned as much."

"I promise you, we will do our utmost to keep the strangers from harming you or your family," the prince assured him.

"Thank you, my prince. Are you to have a go at the sword too, Sire?"

At this point, Arthur nearly dropped his jaw unceremoniously on the ground.

"Um … perhaps. Tell me, Keogh. What do you know of the … erm … legend?" he said, doing his damnedest not to stammer as he was picking up the aforementioned jaw.

"T'is not a legend, my Lord. T'is a fact! Whoever pulls the sword will save our country!" The farmer grew increasingly enthusiastic as he talked about the infamous weapon.

"Really," Arthur mused, signalling to an esquire to help him remove his armour, "and where, pray, did you hear this?"

"The sword has been there for a while now, Sire. Many have tried pulling it out of the stone. Yet only recently was it disclosed to the world why it is there – the sword, I mean..."

The flabbergasted prince nodded mutely. It was hard to believe. Did his oaf of a servant really get hold of a true story, then?

Prince Arthur gratefully accepted clean water from the farmer who beamed at him. They would be at the southern shores in another day's time and then he would have to fight Vikings with a regular sword. If they survived that, he would think about the blasted sword. Apparently, he couldn't escape it as it seemed to be – in Merlin's words – his destiny.

x

The wooden keel of the majestic and imposing longships broke their way through the waves with very little lapping in its wake. Silent, efficient and elegant on the water, they looked – the long battleships of the Vikings. Protected by a row of round, colourful shields that could be dismantled and removed in a matter of a few moments and adorned by a dragon's head in the bow, the ships would later become the very epitaph of the Viking era. This particular longship, a _skei_, could accommodate 30 row seats and easily 100 standing warriors and several horses.

The horses were small and sturdy with a hairy coat and they could carry more than double their own weight; despite their notoriously obstinate nature, they stood calm in the lively ship that danced like a nutshell on the uneasy waters and required merely an occasional pat on their muzzle or throat.

"Easy, there, Hrymfaxe," a particularly tall looking Viking with tawny tresses murmured, caressing his war horse lovingly. "We will soon be there, and then the sword and the misty island will be ours."

"How far are we, Thormod?" one of the rowers cried, sweat mixed with sea water streaming down his furrowed face.

"A good half moon from our destination, Orm!" the said Thormod yelled back. He turned back to concentrate on his horse and gritted his teeth. The elders had opposed to his claim. _T'is not the time for exploring this far west_, they said, _abide your time; the Viking age will come_, shaking their grey heads at the folly of youth.

"I shall show them," Thormod grumbled, "I shall show them all. The sword in the stone will be mine – even if I have to bring back the stone as well!"

Hrymfaxe neighed softly under her master's caring touch, but did not move a hoof. She was too smart for that.

x

"That's it! … I no longer feel the power of the dragon."

The Lady Morgana could hardly control her exhilaration. The immense pressure of pure undiluted force had abated and was now barely detectable through the conduit. "Oh, brother – we shall have him now."

Mordred closed his eyes to feel the conduit, taking Morgana's hand. His brow wrinkled. There was something there – not really the dragon, but almost just as powerful, like a faint echo. It worried him slightly.

=We should, perhaps, wait, Sister. There is still an echo of … something.=

"_**I will not wait**_," the witch roared, pulling her hand from him, highly dissatisfied with his approach. "**We will go – NOW**!"

Smoke was virtually coming out of her ears as her temper snapped in hatred and bitter vile.

"_Wormwood_," she hissed, "I will feed him wormwood."

=Wormwood is a swift death,= Mordred projected pragmatically, =I thought you wanted a more slow and painful death for him.=

Morgana sobered; her small ally was annoyingly right. She would have to bear the patience necessary to bring her closer to her goal: the excruciatingly painful death of Emrys.

Mordred easily followed her train of thought. _I will never forget or forgive, Emrys_.

I promise you that.

x

The young lanky form shivered and awoke suddenly, his mind completely confused as to his whereabouts and thoroughly taken aback by the lack of a bed. Then the warlock's mind woke up to join his body, and the surroundings began to make an impression on him. He shivered harder when the moisture made it up his spine and he winced. _**Oh!**_ Now, he remembered. The plan!

Merlin quickly got up from the humid turf and dusted himself down, removing various interesting species of arachnids and insects. He looked around. The dragon's breath was still in place, but the dragon was nowhere to be seen. Due to the mist, it was difficult for him to determine what time in the day it was, but according to his stomach, it was certainly close to midday. Merlin reached for his bundle of food only to discover that most of it had been eaten by … mice. _Swell!_

Merlin gave up his lunch and gathered some wood instead. Obviously the timber was too damp to ignite, but that didn't stop a sorcerer.

"_**Forbearnan**_," he hissed and the wood sparkled and caught fire. He rubbed his hands against each other. During the night, he had spellbound Kilgharrah to the place by mind; he had drawn dragon power to certain points on the summit to form a pentagram, and he now needed to proceed with the power conduits. According to his research, he needed to join Earth and Fire – by stones as conduit. To make these stones travel through the ground, he needed a call – and more fire. Enter Kilgharrah.

That is, Merlin pondered while still rubbing his bone cold hands, if he made it in time.

Kilgharrah landed with his usual grandeur at the tapping foot of an impatient Merlin.

"Is this what you call noon?"

The dragon looked at him, slightly miffed. "Of course, it is. What do **you** call it, Young warlock?"

"Late."

A dangerous rumbling left the dragon's widened nostrils.

"I am **never** late," it hissed.

Merlin shrugged. "Well, you are here now. Are you ready for the second part of the plan?"

Kilgharrah bowed his massive, scaly head, "I am. Did the mist work for you?"

Merlin coughed, "Like a pneumonia charm," he wheezed. The dragon trotted closer, "never satisfied," it grumbled, barely audibly.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" the giant said and presented Merlin with the reptilian equivalent of a smile. Slightly disconcerted by the sight, Merlin turned to begin the chanting, spreading his long, slim fingers.

x

Dusk had only just begun to cool the waters and the air when the first of six longships slid through the surf and landed itself on the southern shores of England, just north of the Isle of Wight. Normally, no ship could dock there, the waters being too shallow, but it was no challenge for longships with low keels. This was the power of the dragon ships – they could dock anywhere.

Thormod sent out scouts to secure the immediate periphery. He would accept no surprises. If he had heard about the sword, then so had others. The Norse intruder gritted his teeth again with a grating noise; he wouldn't be all surprised to find Snorre close on his heels. That bastard of a _jætte _would do anything to deprive Thormod of his loot.

The tall Viking led his horse gently from the ship and onto solid ground. Having made sure that Hrymfaxe was taken care of in any way, he turned to bark out his orders. They would pull the ships out of the water and cloak them, cover any sign of them having ever landed and camp nearby for the night. Vikings fought well during night, but not immediately after having travelled for days in a longship. All in good time. For now they must cover their tracks and rest.

Sifka, one of the five shield maidens Thormod had brought with them, called out. Already she had found indigenous people. A fisherman by the looks of it. Sifka grinned as she threw the witlessly scared Brit at the feet of Thormod. The Viking chieftain grunted with satisfaction. Shield maidens were never cheap, but they were efficient. Still quivering before him, the fisherman tried to sit, but was instantly kicked down by the sturdy maiden. "Ned med dig, din usle _**hund**_!" she snarled, fully capable of reaching Thormod's own level of voice. The fisherman, understanding absolutely zilch of the words yet got the overall point, stayed put. Then Thormod leaned over and grabbed the poor man by his collar.

"_**Er der flere af jer**_?" he yelled. This time, the fisherman had no chance of understanding anything. "Here, let me," Sifka said, taking over the man's collar. "_**ER DER FLERE AF JER?**_" she roared into his ear, making the unfortunate man deaf, but none the wiser. The shield maiden threw him aside.

"Maybe he's daft?" she suggested. Thormod shrugged. It didn't matter much. His men would soon discover if there were anybody else on the shores.

x

Arthur and his men had continued their journey. Since resting at Keogh's farm, they had carried on incessantly, favouring very few breaks to water their horses and themselves before they continued. The prince was proud of his men; not one showed weakness or a hint of being tired. They held a steady pace despite the heavy burden of armoury and weaponry and they seemed to work well together. The 200 of them were his own men, the remaining from allied kings. All good and sturdy men. Yet, he knew that unless they had one good rest before reaching the southern shores, they would have a serious disadvantage when they met the Vikings. If their opponents were as clever and war honed as their reputation, they, too, would have to rest after docking at the shores. The prince nodded, satisfied with his own reasoning. Thirty miles! Thirty miles from the shores, he would set up camp and indulge his men in one last break before the battle.

x

Merlin smiled ruefully as the great dragon lifted itself from the ground, the very flap of its leathery wings blowing his hair and clothes completely out of shape. _Good bye, Kilgharrah_. The dragon had done its bit and was leaving. Merlin now felt very, very alone. And very, very vulnerable.

_Well_. He quickly shook off the feeling of dread. He just needed to conjure the stones now. Then the final spell and all would be good and he could feel safe, having created a powerful sphere of protection. The sorcerer turned to finish his project.

The dragon's breath was still floating on the hillside, but he could certainly use a little more to hide his forbidden purposes. Merlin took a deep breath and a powerful rumble started resonating from his chest.

__Anal nathrach___, orth' bhais's bethad, do che'l de'nmha._

"I have never seen such a thick fog," Sir Belvedere cried, pointing to a hillside that definitely looked like it was wrapped up in mist.

The other knights turned their heads to follow the direction of Belvedere's hand, and sure enough: a few miles west-south of their trail was a tall hillside, devoid of any trees, but basically enveloped in what appeared to be an impenetrable fog.

"It'll be perfect for cloaking the camp," Arthur murmured. "And about time too. It's almost dark and I hear a thunderstorm approaching and so does my horse." Arthur put a gentle hand on the animal's neck as it danced around, uneasy.

He turned to address Lancelot. "Lance-a-lot, please take Percival and a scout and check out the place. I don't want any surprises."

Sir Lancelot nodded and spurred his bay horse that started cantering slowly. It was tired. They were all tired; the discovery of a suitable camping place could not have been more opportune. Percival followed together with the scout and all three of them soon vanished into the shrubbery.

The ground was soft and damp and as the three men came closer to the fog, the thunderstorm got louder too. Lancelot and Percival looked at each other. Thunder, lightening and fog? Surely that was a rare combination?

x

The night felt sharp and invigorating to Morgana as she and her boy ally floated through the darkness to pursue Emrys. Mordred had finally felt comfortable with the level of power signalled through the tendril and they were following the faint sensation through the magical energies conducted by the joint magic and force by Mordred and Morgana.

The witch gasped with joy as she clung to the ancient cup of apparition and speed that brought them closer to her arch enemy by every second.

She would have him! She would have him at the precise moment when he was exhausted and weak, down on his knees and depleted of magic … just as she had planned.

x

"_**Ástendeaþ stánas fram éar!"**_

Another giant stone shot through the surface with an impressive tremolo, ripping up turves in the process, and another was instantly on its way through the ground, fuelled by the command of the two elements, Fire and Earth.

The sorcerer took a moment to rest. His slim features glistened with sweat in the pale light as he slid down on the damp grass. Tired, he looked up and beheld the tall, slim stones that now towered above him and he nodded in mute satisfaction.

Just a couple of more stones, and the sphere would be complete. Merlin almost cried with relief. It was almost done. Looking particularly more relaxed in his face than he had for days, the young boy incanted the spell once again.

… and that's when he heard soft hoof steps on the turf.

_Oh no! You've got to be kidding!_

xxx

How's that for a cliff hanger – hee, hee.

Sorry. Couldn't resist it. I shall continue as soon as I can. ;-)


	7. Chapter 7

Time for another chapter.

Thanks for your reviews, jediyam. You are truly faithful. :-)

A/N – nothing particular to note this time. Have fun! I certainly did.

xxx

Never had the young sorcerer felt so desperately torn, so completely confused and utterly despondent. First he ran in one direction, then in another, completely at a loss of what to do and at odds with the misty darkness that had been his ally previously, but now made him blind. In the meantime, the hooves came closer, accompanied by muffled, barely audible, speech. Eventually, Merlin settled for hiding behind one of the monoliths he had erected. The fog, he realised once the initial panic had abated, would hide him after all. He stilled his breath; despite the dulling character of the mist, the riders would soon be close enough to hear his hair stand straight.

As the threat approached, he realised that whoever was out there was on a reckon mission, checking the place out carefully as they went along, which meant that he had to jump from one stone to the next, preferably without making a sound.

At some point, he was simply too slow, and all he could do was cowering in the grass while two of the horsemen parked their steeds right in front of the same stone that Merlin hid behind. The warlock thought and projected every oath he had ever heard; however, at that point he discovered that he was actually able to pick up what they were whispering about.

"See anything?"

"Except these impressive and mysterious giant construction? No. You?"

"Nothing. The horses really don't like it here, but apart from that they show no reaction."

"No horses like misty weather. It tickles their nostrils."

"It really is a marvellous cloak. No one will see us here."

"Yes, Arthur had a valid point, there. But he might not like the sight of these druid-looking monoliths."

Merlin almost jumped at the mentioning of the prince's name. _No, please, no_. Surely not. It couldn't be! Of all the places in England, the prat chose to come _**here**_? What were the odds! The warlock started shivering; all that work for nothing? Would he have to abort the project? This was almost too much the bear. Then he noticed the third horseman approach, silently like stealth; it had to be a scout. Pulling himself together, Merlin put it aside momentarily and strained to catch more information. Slowly, he also began to recognise the voices.

"The scout seems to agree."

- _Lancelot?_

"Yes. We'll fetch Arthur, then. It is safe to come and he can then make the final decision. Druid place or not."

- _Percival?_

The three riders disappeared more quickly than they appeared, confident no one was there, and Merlin appeared from his hideout, swearing and grumbling, venting all his frustration. Of all the rotten luck …. and now they were going to get Arthur in all his royal pratness!

Merlin didn't waste any more time, but proceeded to get his belongings that had been thrown on the still wetter turf in the centre of the pentagram. There wasn't any choice, really. He would have to get out and fast and leave the finalisation of the place for another day and time. He just hoped he wouldn't be buried alive before he had the chance to wrap up the whole thing.

Pulling his bundle over his left shoulder, the warlock turned one last time to look at his handiwork and noticed that the middle of the circle had become almost devoid of mist. It would prove a perfect hiding place for Arthur and his knights. The thought of it made him grit his teeth; this spot hadn't exactly been prepared for _**them**_. Why were they there, anyway? He sighed audibly and started to trudge.

The sorcerer was almost out of hearing range, when his ears caught one familiar voice in the distance.

"Oh, boy, is _**that **_peculiar! Really! What _**are **_those druids thinking."

And then Lancelot's polite, enquiring voice: "Are we staying, Sire?"

"I don't see why not," he heard Arthur reply, "the place appears to be deserted – look at the stones, they are completely crooked and all over the place. Clearly they haven't seen this place fit for anything."

_Well_! Merlin bit back, if that isn't typical for that arrogant, supercilious, condescending …

… and then the feeling of a boundless power tearing him apart attacked his body and mind. Quelling a scream, he collapsed in the grass.

_Morgana!_

x

They were close! She could feel it in her entire being and in Mordred's through their bond. Morgana could, in fact, nearly smell the foul stench of her hated enemy, his very essence stinging her nose. The air resistance was ripping her dress and her hair and finally Mordred tugged her sleeve and pointed down. She gasped. Underneath them was a hill top, wrapped up in fog but for one bare spot in the centre of the place, surrounded by tall monoliths that seemed to have come from nowhere. The spot virtually reeked of magic. _Not bad, Emrys_._ I must really have scared the living shit out of you_.

Finally, they sailed silently through the air, broke through the thick frontier of mist and landed surprisingly silently behind the tallest stone. Collecting themselves before making the great entrance, Morgana and Mordred smoothed out their garments that the drag force had treated none too gently and then looked up...

… and got a shock.

Because there – in the centre – was not Emrys. Instead were Morgana's treacherous brother and some of his knights.

_Arthur_, she hissed, her eyes sparkling with malicious intent.

And it wasn't even her birthday.

x

Fighting desperately to get his second wind, Merlin summoned whatever he had left of sheer force and pushed himself up from the ground. His legs nearly buckled and cold sweat dripped down his lean face. Such a cruel fate that he was so exhausted; there was no way he could ever stand up to Morgana at this point, the dragon breath and the laborious magic for almost two days having drained him completely.

Through misty eyes that were not entirely due to the dragon's calling card, he felt rather than saw Arthur swirl round as the odd couple of Morgana and Mordred stepped forward, greeting the prince with no love lost.

Arthur instantly drew his sword with a sharp, metallic sound. "**You**!" he said, chock evident in his voice and in his widened eyes, "And you!", this time referring to the boy. "How...? What are you doing here?" and then turning to his knights, pinning Percival with his glance.

"I thought you said the place was secure?"

Percival gestured at the witch. "Well, they weren't here, Sire. They must have … teleported just now or something."

Arthur turned to the artful twosome again, this time with infinite rage in his face.

"YOU! You have driven my father to madness! His heart is broken beyond repair. Are you happy now? What more do you want?"

Morgana beamed, the dark orbs of her eyes gleaming happily with black magic. "Oh, that was **grand**. Thank you for that piece of information. And now that you ask – you are just a bonus. I am really here for Emrys … let's see ... where is he …?".

"Emrys?" Arthur exclaimed, while Morgana let her eyes and her powers scan the place, "Who the hell is Emrys?" As if the world hadn't gone nuts enough, the prince was now introduced to a completely new name.

Morgana lowered her face and looked at Arthur with piercing eyes.

"Emrys," she snarled, "is the one who has been fighting me every step of the way. He was the one who poisoned me. He was the one who removed the bracelet I put on your wrist when you were tested. He was the one who betrayed me the most. He is the one who is destined to help you gain power. He is the one with ultimate power. And now …. I will kill him."

And with a spectacular arm movement, the lady Morgana threw out a swirl of pure energy like a fishing rod, wheeling in her catch …

… with Merlin strung to the end of the line.

x

There are times when one, no matter the effort, can**not** understand what is going on right in front of one's very eyes. When the reality unravelling right next to one is just too unfathomable. This is exactly how prince Arthur and his knights felt that night. They saw Arthur's manservant floating through the air with dangling legs like a puppet on a string, being captured by Morgana's fishing line of electricity, but they simply could not make any sense of it. Until they heard the poor boy cry out loudly from pain.

"**Merlin**!" Arthur yelled.

The thin servant was in his own world of pain and panic and saw nothing. His eyes were clamped tightly and the young, soft features of his face contorted in agony. Arthur took a step forward with the full intent of running his sword through Morgana when he was stopped by a wave of the hand of Mordred. Arthur's body halted, all his limbs in cramps. Huffing and panting, he looked at his assailant.

"You," he forced out between his teeth, "I helped saving you! Do you remember?"

"And yet you still pursued me," it came bitterly from the boy who, for once, used his vocal ability. Mordred's other hand consequently shot out, freezing the knights mid-air in their attempt to overpower the small child. The strong warriors, thus petrified in odd movements, had no chance of breaking free.

Merlin couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't sense … yet he had to. His own fate of being buried alive notwithstanding, his prince and master, Arthur, was now in mortal danger. If he, Merlin, Emrys, did not do something... Something. He heard Arthur open his mouth again.

"You are making a grave mistake, Morgana," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "do with me what you want, by all means, but spare my knights and Merlin. They are innocents and not involved in the strife between you and I."

Morgana looked at him first with disbelief and then with evil delight.

"You just don't get it, do you, brother _dear_. You're not important here. Emrys is!"

Arthur shook his head in bewilderment. "Who _**is **_this Emrys?"

"He is floating before your very eyes, **you oaf**! _Merlin _is Emrys!"

And this is when you could hear a pin fall to the ground.

Clearly, Morgana understood, she was getting nowhere.

"The greatest warlock ever to breathe?" she helped. Was this brother of hers completely daft? Or didn't he just read?

Still didn't compute. Instead Arthur just shook his head.

"Morgana, this is _**Merlin **_we're talking about. You know..., batty servant, knocking over everything? Clumsy, annoying can't-do-anything Merlin?"

And then she laughed. A maniacal, high pitched, disconcerting laugh, completely unhinged. Her uncontrollable mirth caused her to loosen her control over Merlin just enough for him to take advantage of the one thing he could do better than any sorcerer or sorceress: think one, simple spell.

The last two monoliths that had been on their way finally made it and burst tremulously through the ground with a vengeance – right where Morgana and Mordred stood.

Morgana's hysterical laughter ended in a wild scream of boundless fear as the stone threw her over 10 yards in the air. The onslaught cut her contact with Mordred's clutching hand and made her lose magical control, which freed Arthur and his men and let Merlin fall to the ground. The warlock didn't stay there for long, though. His last spell had completed the ritual and forces beyond even himself hauled his sorry arse back into the air, this time with the right end up. He didn't stop until he was directly over the centre of the stone henge where he went limb and began to rotate slowly, winds blowing around him like a storm that did away the last remains of the mist. With an ear deafening crack permeating light rippled along the edges of the monoliths, shot across the plain and bore their way into the frail body.

Arthur and his knights glared at the spectacle, completely at a loss as what to do. These were powers that no one could meddle with, let alone approach. Arthur had just about decided to run to Morgana, believing this to be her work, and force an answer to the problem out of her. He never got the chance. High above him, his manservant went rigid to the extreme all of a sudden, all his muscles tensing and his limbs jerking. And then came the ultimate light: an intense white light that filled every pore in Merlin's skin streamed out of every orifice.

And then it all exploded in a burst of multicoloured light dots that made everyone cover their eyes almost in pain.

And then there was silence.

It wasn't until the knights heard a dull thud that they dared look again.

Arthur gasped. There he was, his poor servant, lying on the turf like a rag doll, completely dishevelled and no doubt sore to the bone. The prince ran to him, closely followed by Lancelot and Gwaine while the other knights went to secure the perilous pair, Morgana and Mordred.

Arthur turned his skinny friend round; the manservant's eyes were closed and he looked for all intents and purposes, completely out cold. But he didn't look dead!

"Merlin, you idiot! Talk to me!"

A groan and a flutter. Arthur sighed with relief. There was life. Then Merlin opened his eyes and Arthur instantly recoiled in shock and fear.

His servant's eyes glowed deeply golden.

All of a sudden things happened very quickly. Mordred easily overpowered the assailing knights and grabbed Morgana by the arm, pulling her up to stand on shaky legs. Somewhat shocked and merely a shadow of her former evil self, the witch managed to form the bond with Mordred again, who in a flash directed their combined force at Merlin, shooting out a roaring thunder bolt towards him.

But this time, they were met by something different.

Emrys had risen, tall and terrible, and lifted his hand to capture the deathly beam that the malicious alliance had sent his way. His eyes, which were still flashing, stared at them with something very much like raging anger in them. His long fingers snatched the thunder bolt and wrapped themselves round the magical light while he used the other hand to point at them. His voice, now enforced by the power he had absorbed from the ritual, boomed and echoed against the monoliths for effect.

"_**Behold the witch and her boy. They chose to thwart me. They chose unwisely to attack my friends and my prince that I have sworn to protect. You will be gone, witch. Leave now if you wish to live."**_

… and then he lifted his hand, pregnant with the deadly bolt and sent the energy flash back at them. It hit Morgana right in the chest and sent her down the hilly slope. Mordred fell with her, never letting go of her hand. And then they were gone, leaving only a thin trail of blue smoke.

x

Slowly. But very slowly, the golden flash left Merlin's eyes and the electricity abated from the air. For a while, nothing but heavy breathing could be heard. Then, finally, Arthur slowly turned to look at the warlock. The prince shook his head.

"What the..?"

Merlin turned his head to return the gaze.

"I guess I have some explaining to do," he rasped.

Arthur nodded. "You've got **that** right!"

xxx

Uh-uuuh. Good luck trying to explain that one away, Merlin.

If you want to find out if he can actually do that, keep an eye on the updates. ;)


	8. Chapter 8

I'm back! And very encouraged by your kind reviews.

_Second Star On The Left_: Cheers ever so much, but I really can't take credit for the idea of Merlin erecting the Stonehenge. Geoffrey of Monmouth – possibly the best known author of the Arthurian Legend – was there first. He wrote a story of how Merlin built the Stonehenge by the help of a giant. I simply took that idea and twisted it a bit, leaving out the giant for starters. :-)

Anyway ...'nough said. Read on and see how Arthur reacts to news that is shaking his impression of how the world works.

xxx

Lancelot was the first knight to react as he approached the eye balling pair.

"No trace of Morgana and Mordred," he reported cautiously, looking askance at Merlin with deep, friendly concern in his eyes.

"Good," came the hard reply from Arthur whose watchful eyes never wavered from the exhausted warlock in front of him. He needn't have bothered; Merlin's limbs twitched with fatigue and his head felt so light, too light.

The monoliths were still glowing faintly and provided thus illumination enough for them to see each other, yet it was fading fast and the knights knew they would have to find a solution to the night camp issue soon.

"We need a decision, Sire," Sir Elyan suggested gingerly. Arthur raised a warning hand and Elyan backed off, reading his prince correctly.

"Look," Lancelot said, tentatively, "It's _Merlin_, my Lord. He doesn't have one evil bone in his body ..."

Arthur finally moved and swung round to bellow at his knights: "**GO! ALL OF YOU! Leave us! Return to the soldiers and tell them I will be with them presently**!"

Lancelot opened his mouth and then shut it firmly. Obviously, now was not the time to stand up and defend his friend. Surely, the prince wouldn't kill him, and even if he tried, Merlin had just proven that he wasn't bumped off that easily. The handsome knight cast a nervous glance at the thin, shivering young boy that, at the moment, looked like anything but a perilously powerful sorcerer and turned to join his fellow knights, who were attempting to light a very wet torch with absolutely no luck. Turning back to catch the eye of his magical friend, he thus made Merlin aware of their problem. As much as they wanted to get the hell out of there, they couldn't go anywhere without light.

Merlin cleared his throat; it still hurt terribly from having swallowed several energy tendrils.

"You know, they need light – maybe I could …."

Arthur, still trying like hell to grasp what he had just witnessed, whipped his head round, his expression one of angry disbelief at the sight of Merlin's fingers already in 'magic position'. "You're _**joking, **_right?"

"Or maybe not..." Merlin concluded meekly and let his hand fall.

The prince watched the last of his trusted warriors stumble down the wet and slippery hillside, blind and torchless in the pit black night, and then returned to pin Merlin with his steely gaze. His mind was fighting to encompass the enormity of the revelation.

Merlin! A sorcerer?

The one person that could be trusted not to be tainted with the forbidden magical skill had turned out to be … exactly that. Arthur felt his conceptions crumble like a dry biscuit.

The sorcerer in question let out a hollow huff and collapsed on the ground, adrenaline shock finally hitting him hard. Habit and reflex made the prince reach for him, though let go of him just as quickly as if he had burned himself.

The servant looked so small and fragile, sitting there huddled up in the grass and weeds. His clothing was in rags, his hair pointing in all directions and his remarkable ears sticking out even more than usual. Most noticeable, though, were the soft, dark blue eyes that were back to that special Merlin-brand of innocence. A far cry from the powerful warlock that Arthur had just seen cream one vindictive witch and a child wizard throwing a tantrum.

"All right," he said, voice still firm but less sharp, "Now spill it! I want to know all and I accept no lies."

Merlin let out an abated breath. The time had come. Arthur would finally know what he was. He couldn't believe it. Well … it was bound to be after all. He just prayed that time – and he himself – had prepared the young prince sufficiently to accept and condone the true nature of his manservant.

Merlin shifted his posture gingerly with a grimace; his bones were aching, his body was sore and his insides felt like they had been roasted to a crisp.

"Right," he sighed and looked down, "so .. I'm a sorcerer."

Arthur's mouth was strained. "You don't say!"

"I have been all the time."

Clearly, Arthur didn't expect _this_. "All the time?" he repeated incredulously.

"Yes … I'm sorry."

"Whattayoumean … _'all the time'?_."

"From the day I was born."

Arthur jumped to his feet. "Impossible!"

"No, not really," Merlin winced.

"What .. is that _**it**_? You don't have some genius explanation that, for instance, the witch enchanted you? That you were caught in a fire-storm and somehow came out like this? That you accidentally swallowed a scale from a dragon and turned magical? Come _**on**_, Merlin!"

"I'm sorry," Merlin shrugged in regret, apologising again, "I have just always been like this … I was born with magic."

Arthur's eyeballs were virtually popping out; as much as he tried, he couldn't seem to wrap his mind round this one simple fact. His creased brow bore witness to his inner fight to make heads or tails of a world that, to him, seemed turned completely upside down.

"Have you been … _**lying **_to me all this time?" he yelled angrily. Merlin winced again.

"Well … no, not technically. Just omitted a fact or two."

Arthur growled and turned away from him, letting out every oath he could muster.

"I _**trusted **_you. Why did you _**do **_that!"

Merlin was getting annoyed – surely it was clear to anyone why he had chosen to keep his gift a secret. Getting a grip, he pushed himself up from the cold turf to reinstate his dignity and stand on gangly legs that only just supported him.

"Why? Oh, let's see. Here's today's question for you, Arthur: You find yourself full of magic; so what do you do: disclose your magic abilities to the son of a sorcerer-hating king with the unfortunate habit of slaughtering people with the slightest hint of magical skills? Or: just plain shut your mouth about it – what would _**you **_choose, Arthur Pendragon?"

"**I would have told the prince – at least a lot sooner than this!**" he thundered. "Have I not expressed a certain … acceptance towards some magical occurrences during the last couple of years?"

"**Only to speak against them a second after**," Merlin thundered back, finding energy and strength in a feeling of defensive indignation and years of frustration.

"I ...pftttyy!" The latter part was mainly the prince blowing air through his teeth while shaking his head. He eventually threw his hands in the air, feeling at a loss for words to match his inner storm of emotions. Then he turned his back to his servant and sighed deeply.

"The point _**is**_, Merlin … you should have had faith in me!"

There was silence. Then Merlin moved uneasily, his sensitive face looking wrenched in turmoil.

"Perhaps that is so. Perhaps I should have had more faith. I don't know. I only know that all it would take was _one _false move – _**one**_, Arthur – and Uther would have had me burned on the pyre."

"You don't know that for certain," Arthur said in a tired voice, feeling touchy and defensive in matters of his recently demented father. Previously, he would have agreed with that statement on the spot.

"Yeah, I do, actually.. He did try once."

The prince turned round slowly, his movement clearly communicating amazement, and peered at Merlin, squinting through the darkness. "What **are** you talking about?"

"Of course, he didn't really know it was me..."

"_**What?**_"

Arthur stepped closer, partly to be able to actually **see** the warlock in the now darker than dark night and partly to urge him to divulge the story. "_**Tell**_ me, Merlin! No more secrets!"

Merlin sighed for the umpteenth time that day and murmured, "It would be so much easier just to show you."

"Show me?"

"Yeah – it won't hurt."

Arthur instantly took offence. "I will have you know – I can take a lot of pain! I'm not a girl like **somebody** I know."

Merlin shook his head. "You won't like it."

"You don't know that."

"Of course, I do."

"_Merlin_!"

"You always were a bit wimpy ..."

"_**MERLIN**_!"

"All righty, then," the sorcerer said hastily and shot out his fingers that landed softly on the base of Arthur's skull. The prince never even had time to look surprised. Images and memories immediately flooded his mind and the entire story of the infamous _Dragoon_ unfolded itself to the last detail.

The prince's facial expression was a sight. It quickly started to change between awe at the method of communication, comprehension in terms of 'oh, so that was why...' and mirth at the odd disguise and eventually warmth at the conclusion of the ending. When Merlin carefully lifted his fingers away, the prince shortly blinked in confusion and then focused at his manservant.

"You saved Gwen," he said softly.

Of all the stories Merlin could have presented him with, this was the one that would make Arthur forgive him everything.

Attempting to digest much too much information took its toll on Arthur Pendragon. His legs suddenly buckled under him and he sagged against a nearly equally exhausted Merlin, who clumsily helped him sit down beside him. For a minute or two, the prince said nothing, his mind mulling over various memories and beginning to understand certain things that had stumped him at the time. So much to ask about, so much to understand, so much to … accept. Then Merlin broke the silence.

"You know, I still don't know why _**you **_are here."

Arthur whirred his head in confusion.

"Oh!" he said, as if it were a surprise to himself as well, "that's right. We have embarked on a voyage to fight Vikings."

"Vikings? Where did _they _come from?"

"God knows," Arthur murmured. He turned to look at his friend and then noticed.

"I actually can't see a blooming thing any more."

"You want light?"

Arthur hesitated, yet his face was relaxed and he looked at Merlin as if to read him – only to conclude that he really did need a light to even make out the sorcerer's face.

"Yeah... I do."

Merlin rose and picked up the wet torch that one of the knights had abandoned.

"_**Forbearnan**_," he whispered.

And there was light.

x

"I see a flash of light up there," Leondegrance said suddenly, making all the other knights whip round their heads in the direction of the hilltop.

"You're right, Leon," Gwaine said. "What does it mean? That they have killed each other?"

"I still don't think we should have left them," Leon said, his face grim.

"Yeah?" Elyan said, "you felt like thwarting Arthur's order? You are braver than most, then."

"They'll work it out, I am confident they will," Lancelot said gently. Sir Leon turned to look at him.

"That might not be a good idea. Merlin appears to be a **sorcerer**, for god's sake!"

"But one who has helped us all the way, Leon." Lancelot pointed out without thinking.

"How can you be sure?"

The young knight was momentarily stumped. Perhaps he shouldn't have said that. Gwaine suddenly looked at him.

"You knew?" he realised.

Lancelot looked from one to the other of the group of knights. Then he sighed. Truth! The noble code of conduct for a knight of Camelot. "Yes, I knew."

A rush of dulled 'ooo's and 'aaah's rippled through the group. "And," Lancelot continued, "that is how I know that he has done only good!"

"Until now," Sir Belvedere growled, "Is it not true that absolute power corrupts absolutely?"

Gwaine cut in and with a hand gesture signalled silence.

"Keep it down, keep it down." he urged, "let's not share all this with the soldiers. It is essential to uphold the unity."

They all nodded in unison. It was the prince's prerogative to decide what to do with the overwhelming news: Merlin, the clumsy manservant, was a sorcerer.

A powerful sorcerer.

x

"I can help you beat the invaders," the young warlock said.

They were walking through the grass, led by Merlin's flaming torch. Arthur had decided to use the hillside as camp site after all. He was somewhat worried that the mist was gone and with it their perfect cloak, but precautions would be taken to enforce the perimeter. It was still high ground – the perfect setting to fight back in case of an attack.

When Merlin offered his help, the prince really only understood half of what the youngster said, still not used to the fact that his manservant had magic.

"As if," the tall blonde man chuckled, flashing Merlin a crooked grin; then his face fell comically fast as the realisation hit him; oh! _Magic_.

"Out of the question," he said, voice firm and unyielding.

"Why not?" Merlin asked, his eyebrows indicating slightly insulted annoyance, "now that you know … _**use **_me!"

"It is not that simple, Merlin. Until I officially condone magic …. good magic, that is, I can absolutely not be seen accepting it!"

"Nobody will ever be the wiser. I guarantee you that. I'll be awfully discreet. Remember, I have, successfully, kept it from all of you for several years."

Arthur winced, still not completely at ease with his servant's new standard. "Oh, nice, Merlin. Thanks for reminding me."

"Any time," Merlin felt confident enough to grin.

"But my answer is still no."

Merlin opened his moth and was instantly stopped by the prince.

"I **mean **it, Merlin," Arthur emphasised, waving a determined finger right in the young sorcerer's face. "This is your chance to prove to me that you yield your power to my control entirely," he continued, his expression serious and almost pleading.

Merlin saw the unspoken concern in his friend's eyes. _I feel uncomfortable with the fact that you are this powerful and I need proof that I can trust you implicitly._

Merlin's eyes mellowed and his features softened, making him look impossibly young.

"Of course you can trust me," he said in a low, mature voice, "now and forever. I will never do anything to hurt you or anyone else in Camelot. You are destined to lead us to peace and Albion, and you have my utter allegiance, Arthur Pendragon."

xxx

So. Will Merlin sneak in some magic during the coming confrontation with the Vikings after all? If he does, how will Arthur react? Will the mist or the dragon return?

And what about that blasted sword in the stone?

This and other questions you can think of may be answered in the next chapter of …

… _**Unhenged**_.

;-)


	9. Chapter 9

Cheers ever so much for interesting and perceptive comments.

_MasterOfGrey_: Morgana out of character? Okay, I shall endeavour to do something about that. I haven't seen the first ep. of S4, but I'm guessing from the trailers that she has finally embraced her true hateful nature. How the Vikings knew about the sword? Good point. You have sharp eyes. You'll have to indulge me, though – everything will be revealed. ;)

_Jediyam_: Morgana and Mordred? Another good point. Time will tell … hee, hee.

A/N – Now, we're moving into the realm of Norse mythology, I should probably note a few facts. The main Norse Gods are called Asa gods. Most people know then them as Thor, Odin, Freja etc. (Yup: Freja was a Norse goddess – the Goddess of Love: The BBC seem to have adopted that name for the Lady of the Lake and why not). And I'll explain _Jormundgand _in the next chapter. Wouldn't want to spill too many spoilers.

Disclaimer: All _The Adventures of Merlin_-related details belong to the BBC. Everything else is compliments to history and my own, sick imagination.

An interesting fact for history buffs:

Spells have been translated through this online translator ., which, by the by, produces words very similar to both Norse and modern Danish. This is no surprise since the Vikings certainly have left their mark, even evident in modern English as the Nordic languages and English share many words. However, it introduces an interesting logistic problem since the Arthurian legend, according to Geoffrey of Monmouth, takes place around year 500 and the Vikings didn't land on the British shores until about year 793. Old English was spoken in England between 500 and 1200, and taking the Viking invasions into account as such, makes sense given the fact that the language probably developed over time. It is still, however, a tad too early for the Arthurian legend, so one will have to assume that the producers of the TV-series simply just decided to bend time a bit. ;-).

xxx

Prince Arthur, son of King Uther Pendragon, slowly and reluctantly opened his eyes as his mind gradually resurfaced from the oblivious depths of sleep. The turf felt hard and humid underneath him and the cool air was creeping up his spine. One extra blanket would have done wonders, he idly thought in a wish for luxury. The muscle honed warrior yawned and stretched his limbs tentatively to test exactly how sore they were from lying flat on an uneven ground and a couple of roots.

_What an odd dream_. He smiled lazily. What was it? Ah, yes – Merlin as a powerful sorcerer, beating Morgana and her evil pet back to the stone ages. He let out a girlish snigger and finally fully opened his eyes...

… and saw the monoliths!

With a roar of epiphany, everything from the night before came rushing back at him in one painful flash, and Arthur jumped to his bare feet, instantly regretting it: The ground was wet, cold, stony – and the place was yet again enveloped in a thick fog.

"_**Merlin**_!" he raged, kicking his servant that lay wrapped up beside him and causing the boy to roll out of his blanket. The sorcerer's nonplussed face leered at his master, eyes heavy with sleep.

"What?" he murmured groggily. Arthur stooped and controlling his annoyance, lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"It's **foggy**, Merlin! What did I say about not … you know!"

Merlin turned his head and noticed the mist. "Oh," he said, "not guilty," he assured his paranoid master, "must be just nature at work."

"Oh." Arthur suddenly felt rather deflated. Then he cast Merlin one last suspicious eye, grumbling something that sounded a little like an apology though it ended in "your own bloody fault."

At least they had been allowed to spend the night without alerts. The watch had been remarkably uneventful and gave the men the much needed break they required before engaging the Vikings. Unfortunately, the prince thought, the opponent had probably been equally refreshed.

The camp was soon dismantled, the knights working seamlessly as a team and the soldiers being seasoned travellers. Arthur assembled his knights discreetly and started issuing instructions in a hushed tone.

"Remember what we talked about. You are to forget about Merlin's … ability. Do not speak of it, do not think of it. Merlin is who he has always been. Under no circumstances must the soldiers know we are harbouring a sorcerer."

"Yessire," they said as one.

"It is for his own good – and certainly for ours."

"Yessire."

"Good. You have your orders. Snap to it."

Shortly after, they left the hill top, the scouts and the soldiers first, then the knights with their prince and lastly … Merlin, who needed to do just one last thing before leaving his protection centre. When he was sure that no one would see or hear him, he turned round, gazed intently on the monoliths and breathed:

"_Ende fæstnung togeagnes ánwealda, ætýne mín, Emrys, bebodrædenne."_

With a surprising level of silence, six of the gigantic stones slowly lifted off the ground, sailed through the air to finally rest themselves on top of some of the other monoliths, bridging from one to the other. With as little noise as possible, Merlin secured them carefully, efficiently blocking the open gates to the universe.

There! Now he had closed down his life achievement. It would be possible to reopen it, but only he could do it. He nodded with satisfaction.

Then he heard an urgent "Merlin!", and he turned to follow the prince.

x

"Are you ready, Bengerd, oh, most horrible of all witches?"

This silver tongue belonged to Thormod. The Vikings, like Arthur and his men, had rested well and were more than ready to meet any challenge on their way to the Sword and fame and fortune. Thormod looked at the toothless old woman whom he had been addressing; she stood before him in all her might, an old bat with greenish white hair, shredded garments and fur, a string of magical items round her neck and round her wrists; there were fortune bones, dragon teeth, frog skulls, bat fur, crystallised eyes, shrunken heads and powders; it would all help them achieve their goal.

"What do the Asa gods tell you, Bengerd?" he asked the witch. Bengerd rearranged the few teeth she had got left, crouched on the nearby rock and threw the bones, concentrating on the result.

"Power, Thormod," she murmured, "power, sword and battle."

"Is the Sword still in the stone? No one has removed it yet?"

The skinny witch with the furrowed skin inhaled deeply, held her breath while she closed her eyes and focussed hard and then let out the breath very, very slowly, fingering the bones.

"The Sword is still there. It will be ready for you, Thormod; your ambitions will be met and challenged. The sacred scrolls do not lie – England will be ruled by the warrior who pulls out the Sword."

The Viking chieftain nodded with satisfaction; it was going to be hard, but he never wanted it easy. Then he turned and bellowed at his men. In turn, they called out to the men of the next longship and shortly after, the entire war party of 700 Vikings started moving inland.

The savage hordes were on their way!

x

As the Camelot allied forces moved quickly, refreshed from the night's rest, over the country side, Arthur and Merlin rode together, but in silence. Now and then, the prince barked an order or gestured a hand signal, but mostly he just sat back, taciturn and wrapped up in his own thoughts. Merlin dared not interrupt with his musings; clearly, the prince was still fighting an inner battle with the magic issue, yet Merlin was confident that the very fact that the sorcerer was still alive, was a good sign that Arthur would eventually see the logic and wisdom in having a sorcerer for a servant – or advisor.

They had been riding for a couple of very mute hours, when, all of a sudden and without looking at Merlin, Arthur shot out:

"So … you really didn't have a headache, did you?"

It took Merlin a couple of seconds to make the connection to the prince's train of thought; then he nodded.

"Yeah, I did. Searingly so. Apparently Morgana had found a way to project a living nightmare into my mind."

Arthur looked at him with an intense facial expression. "You did talk about a nightmare. I remember that. But it wasn't wildren, was it? What was it?"

"Being buried alive."

Arthur cringed the corners of his mouth downwards and widened his eyes. "Sounds ugly. I can understand why you couldn't ignore that."

"I believe it was her way to make me flee Camelot and get out of safety and into open land where I would be more vulnerable. If I thought it to be my future, I would need a protection centre..."

"And … that was what you were building?"

"Yes."

Arthur nodded, impressed despite himself. "Well … it seemed to work – despite crooked walls."

"_**You **_try landing tonnes of heavy monoliths with uneven bottoms straight on the ground with your mind."

Arthur smirked. "I'm just saying, Merlin. Perhaps you would benefit from a construction course."

"You're just jealous – for once it wasn't your toy!"

"_Hang _on ..."

And thus the banter continued to the rhythm of the horses' stepping hooves in the rough terrain, making Lancelot, who hovered nearby, smile with relief.

x

"_Hede og kulde, vær mine redskaber. Vis mig, hvor tænkende væsener sig hobe_,"

Bengerd whispered and then blew her foul breath into the air. Right in front of the awed Vikings, forms and shapes appeared in thin air. An outline was dotted round them like a map and Thormod started to count the shapes.

"About 500," he grunted.

"Is goooood!" one of his men, Magnus, purred, "We outnumber them, then, by 200."

"Pathetic twit!" Thormod snarled, "it is not the number of bodies, but the number of hearts that matters."

Bengerd silently agreed with her master. The Brits would fight till the last drop of blood, having everything to lose. Completely in synch with her, Thormod turned his head and nodded at the sea.

"We may need _Jormundgand_ before the day has passed."

"Aye," Bengerd rasped, "but as last resort, my Lord. There is no one left here to master his kind, I am told. I can summon him, but my control over him will be limited once the power is unleashed"

The broad Viking nodded curtly.

x

It was the middle of the day. The sun had burned away the remains of the heavy morning dew and mist long ago. Fields, plains and forests glowed youthfully in the blazing sun that caressed the lazily waving weed and grass. It was a beautiful day.

It was a good day to die.

Before them was a flat plain, surrounded by tall birches and crooked oaks, low set rocks and steep hill sides and deep meadows. A perfect killing field. Even the birds had stopped singing as if they knew what was coming. Humans. War mongers. Two armies on each of their side of the plain.

The Arthurian army had engaged the Viking warriors.

"They don't look so tough," Merlin said, breaking the silence. Arthur didn't answer, but drew his sword, steeling himself to deliver the final stirring speech that was meant to fuel his men into giving their absolute best in the battle to come.

And then all hell broke loose.

Arthur had failed to take one thing into account: Vikings didn't give motivating war speeches. They just charged.

With an roaring, ear deafening, blood chilling war cry, about 700 armed-to-the-teeth blood thirsty Vikings attacked, full throttle and head on, the Camelot alliance. Arthur looked at them in infinite surprise and inwardly thought that they had no manners. Then he said:

"Oh, sod it!"

And with a war cry of his own spurred his horse, making it gallop directly into the horde of savages.

Merlin followed his prince as well he could. His horse wasn't quite as fast as Arthur's, but with a little magic …

… oh, that's right. He wasn't allowed! Bummer.

Merlin gritted his teeth and hoped he would be in time to watch over Arthur's royal backside. As he always had. Swords were already cutting through the air round him while his own lay inactive in its sheath.

The sorcerer was about to draw his weapon, when his poor horse was torpedoed by a red Viking horse; small and fluffy, yet hard as steel, it rammed into the side of Merlin's somewhat more delicate Andalusian horse. It scooted into the ground, neighing helplessly in despair.

Merlin managed to lift his legs enough to avoid being caught underneath the horse and was soon on his legs, this time managing to unsheathe his sword before something else happened. A roar to the right warned him of an onslaught and he turned just in time to block the vicious blow of an axe. Not nearly matching the force behind the blow, however, the warlock's legs buckled. Meanwhile, his horse got up, unscathed and ran for its life.

The battled had only just begun and already Merlin was in trouble. He had no time for that! He was supposed to watch a certain prat's behind!

Where was Arthur?

x

Arthur Pendragon, Sir Leon, Belvedere and Kay were taking on a particularly feisty group of Vikings. These opponents had no plan or technique, but simply hacked away whenever they saw the tiniest speck of life; other Vikings in the vicinity appeared to look to them for guidance, and Arthur knew that taking them down would discourage this particular group somewhat. Ducking one axe, Arthur managed to disarm the tallest of them, which brought him face-to-face with a Viking with very slim limbs.

A woman.

Her fierce countenance unsettled him so that she almost got the better of him, swinging a blood red morning star in a deadly blow. The prince dodged it in the last nick of moment and couldn't help crying, "Who are you?"

"_Tid at slås, ej at skvadre!_" the woman roared, narrowing her eyes like a wild forest cat. She expounded her statement by kicking him viciously in the groin. Arthur buckled and fell backwards into Leon's long legs. "Did you catch that?" he asked his tall knight, huffing. "I think she means you harm, Sire," Leon suggested with searing irony as he swung his sword at her. She deftly avoided it with an expression of disgust that clearly communicated what she thought of the British way of fighting.

Arthur let Leon dance with the woman warrior and turned to find another target, suddenly realising,

"Now, where the hell is Merlin?"

The prince didn't get a chance of finding out as a heavy sword came his way. In his mind, despite the battle, concern for his servant's welfare did begin to grow. After all, Merlin was shite with a sword.

x

"I really am shite with a sword," Merlin acknowledged as he danced round an assailant who constantly tried to spear him. "_Så stå dog stille_!" the opponent cried, frustrated with the artistic dance that kept him from running this gangly young man through.

"I'm sure I agree," Merlin shouted back, miscalculating half of his own sword swings.

The warlock moved further to the left which turned out to be a grave mistake as his heel caught the root of a bush and flattened him instantly. His eager attacker finally saw an opening and threw himself at his prey, the spear high above his head.

Completely by reflex and self-defence, Merlin's eyes flashed golden and the Viking was speared on his own weapon.

Merlin crawled away, panting, mostly out of guilty conscience. He had promised Arthur …, then he turned and looked at the foul looking spear in the dead man's hand. "What? Promised him to die? Certainly not. There simply hadn't been any other choice.

But boy, was he going to fry his butt if he found out!

For now, he needed to find the prince to make sure the Once and Future king survived the battle.

xxx

So what's this _Jormundgand _the brutal Vikings are talking about?

Read the next instalment, and you will find out – (evil snigger).


	10. Chapter 10

Back again. I'm on a roll, here. ;)

A/N – I use the word _tølt_ in this chapter. _Tølt_ is the one gait that only Icelandic horses employ. Icelandic horses are descendants of the legendary Viking horses. I have tried it once, and it really is a most comfortable gait for the rider.

Lingo: As always, I can translate the Viking language to those who ask for it, but it really isn't essential to the story – trust me on that.

Disclaimers: Yadayadayada … you know the drill.

Now, … sit back and meet _Jormundgand. :-D_

xxx

The battle field was a complete jumble. In the west area, more than 100 alliance soldiers were doing their damnedest to hold back 200 Vikings that, high on mushrooms, still were viciously and aggressively ploughing their way through any obstacle. The Camelot war leader in charge did his best to order arrow head formations combined with shield blocks, but this really didn't impress the barbarians who just threw themselves at the sharp weapons in front of them regardless of the consequences. South of this spectacle, about 55 of Arthur's own soldiers had managed to flatten 70 Vikings which more than 100 more of their comrades in arms didn't take lightly. The rest of the killing field entailed random fights, man to man – or shield maiden, except for the east part of the battle where Arthur and his knights were holding the fiercest Vikings off. The knights had tried to spread out to pass more collective orders throughout the army, but had found it impossible to break through this particular blockade.

Almost all warriors had fallen or been ripped off their horses which left many of the steeds running helter skelter among the fighting men. Some of the more seasoned war horses had done what they were trained to do: returned to base, where others had stayed with their riders, faithful to the last. It was one such noble beast that Merlin got hold of; it was guarding its fallen master, a short, red haired Viking of slim build, and Merlin immediately bend its will by whispering a soft spell in its ear. Having mounted the furry, dusty beige Viking horse, he grabbed the black mane and urged it forward. The animal instantly engaged in _tølt _to the sorcerer's huge surprise.

Quickly by the help of this comfortable steed, Merlin found Arthur and the knights, dodging sharp swords and heavy morning stars on the way. The horse evaded several onslaughts easily, appearing completely calm in the middle of the din of battle. _I might get me one of these once this is over_, the warlock thought, pleased.

The knights had almost broken through the Viking semi-circular offensive line that had formed round Arthur. The prince nodded with satisfaction. This gave him the opportunity to slide round to one side and take these barbarians from the back. As he saw Kay and Elyan make it through the pack of enemies, he fell back, dodged to the left and swayed round the row of Vikings … only to run head first into three of the tallest, broadest, meanest son-of-a …. he had ever seen. The brick wall in front of him consisted largely of muscles and heavily boned bodies completely with large hands that looked like they could crush one of Merlin's monoliths just by resting on them. Arthur swore under his breath. He bent down in his knees, ready to catapult himself forward into at least one of them. He did so successfully and rammed into the groin of the giant, fell down and stood to review his handiwork.

No effect. What so ever. The giant still stood there, flanked by his peers, with the slight difference that they all were now grinning.

Not good!

Arthur didn't even get a chance to rethink his position when the terrible threesome charged surprisingly swiftly. One blow with the axe made Arthur's sword fly away and his hand hurt intolerably. Another blow flattened the prince to the ground. Arthur whipped his head round; his knights were not even near him; they had finally broken through the line – following Arthur's orders. As in a slow motion dream, Arthur saw all of the three big brutes' massive swords come down on him.

Arthur Pendragon had failed and was about to die.

x

The young knight with the brown curls never tired. This was what he was born for, this was the glory and honour he had sought. Fighting a peer enemy, every stroke a challenge and every breath exhilarating. Lancelot wielded his sword without pause.

Ever so randomly, his head turned to the left where he knew Arthur and the other knights were still trapped. He wanted to be there and help them; yet part of serving a king was also following orders. They had the comprehensive overview and knew what was best.

Except in one respect, of course.

_Merlin_.

Pulling his dripping sword out of a particularly fat Viking, Lancelot wondered, slightly worried, what had become of his young friend that he owed so much. There was no way, the thin young servant could stand up to this violent battle without using magic. Lancelot knew this. Arthur should know this.

In fact, Prince Arthur might just have signed his most trusted friend's and servant's death warrant by forbidding him to use magic.

The Camelot knight sighed and hacked down the next Viking.

x

As the row of swords came closer, the impossibly massive Vikings suddenly stiffened, simultaneously, and swayed, blood trickling out of their mouths. Arthur blinked as he saw the swords falter and then his eyes conveyed panic as he suddenly realised that the heavy bulks would actually fall on top of him. The prince almost yelled out in pain before it happened; then to his surprise, the bodies swayed lightly, took a turn and fell to the side instead. Arthur looked up, still not understanding what had happened until he saw Merlin stand where the Vikings had been. The young man's fingers were still outstretched and the eerie glow only just leaving his eyes.

Arthur opened his mouth, anger etching his face, when Merlin beat him to it.

"..."_Thank you_, Merlin – it was nice of you to save my life, Merlin." "Don't mention it, Sire. I am happy to be of assistance."..."

Arthur's mouth became a thin, strained line, and declining Merlin's outstretched helping hand, he got up. "I could have taken him," he said curtly.

"_**Whom .. **_are you kidding, Arthur?"

"You could have found another way," Arthur argued frustrated, turning to deal a blow when a shield maiden charged from the right.

"Of course," Merlin said in searing irony, "I'm _**so**_ skilled with a sword!"

Arthur finished the shield maiden, then turned to face his servant with a new look in his face.

"Yeah. You're right. You really are quite an idiot with a sword – with any conventional weapon for that matter."

Merlin bit back a sarcastic _gee, thanks_, but he actually agreed wholeheartedly.

As the battle continued, they both went quiet and concentrated on surviving, Arthur wielding his sword and Merlin discreetly employing magic if it was absolutely necessary.

It had been a break-through.

x

Sporting an invisibility cloak, Bengerd walked among the fighting warriors and watched the battle. She was worried. Things didn't progress sufficiently to the Vikings' advantage. Already, the skilled soldiers of Camelot and their allies had slaughtered more than half the Vikings, whereas The Vikings had killed only a third of the British forces. The numbers were evening out, fast, and the invaders were losing their edge. The scheming witch passed up Thormod as he was pulling out his axe from a British skull. Appearing suddenly by his side literally out of the blue, she made him flinch.

"I hate it when you do that," he complained.

"Grow up," the old woman wheezed.

"What is it? I'm busy right now."

"It is not going well for you."

"I did get that impression," Thormod admitted, his face grim.

"Do you wish for me to summon him?"

Thormod severed a head from a body while mulling her proposal over.

"You say you cannot control this beastie fully? Will he attack us?"

The witch smiled. "Only if he is attacked. Which the British certainly will."

Thormod nodded his scarred face. "Then do it. We have wasted enough time here."

Bengerd dissolved again, much to Thormod's annoyance, and crept along the battle lines to the south. Once positioned there, she reappeared, a good 500 yards from the front line, took out her string of magical items and started chanting.

"_Oh, Mægtige Orm, søn af Loke og Angerboda, broder til Fenris og Hel, forlad din dybe grav og vis dit åsyn og hjælp dine trofaste_."

She continued to chant this one line while she rattled her bones and sprayed a green powders into the air. For a while nothing happened.

But then the earth trembled.

x

Keeling over, Merlin suddenly screamed loudly with pain and fear and put his hands over his ears.

Arthur jumped with shock and looked at the young warlock, then wrinkled his brow.

"Merlin? What are you doing? **Stop** it!"

"It isn't me," the sorcerer groaned, barely able to stand, "it is … someone else!"

And that's when the earth trembled.

x

As the tremors of the ground grew in intensity, many of the fighting souls stopped in mere amazement and insecurity, forgetting about slicing open the opponent and just plain trying to remain on their feet. Some cried 'earth quake', others cried a, to the British, unintelligible word. A rushing sound, like the sound from the keel of a sailing ship only a thousand times louder, rippled over the entire field and massive drops of salty water suddenly started falling from the sky. Immediately after, an enormously large cloud appeared above their heads, opting even more water, now in buckets, to fall.

Arthur cried out loud in annoyance and shock. _What the..._? Never had he witnessed such a weather phenomenon. "What _**is **_this?" he yelled to deafen the tonnes of water that splashed down.

""I'm not sure," Merlin yelled back, "Something gigantic has been summoned, I think!"

"Gigantic?" Arthur yelled, "Oh, come **on**, Merlin. You have to be more precise than that!"

He saw Merlin's eyes widen with shock and his hand rise to point … upwards.

"Gigantic like that, for instance?" he commented, trying to hold his shaking hand still. Arthur turned his head and upwards and saw …

… something enormous blocking the sun, in fact, blocking the entire sky.

_Jormundgand _had answered the witch's call.

Thormod was laughing wildly with delight as the huge, scaly sea-serpent rose from the ocean and stretched up to fill out the entire sky. It's blue-green luminescent scales were shining with water and made the drops that fell glisten with multicoloured sparks; its glowing, orange, fish-like eyes were fixed on the crowd of people, stumbling round underneath it and its long sleek body was curved like an _S_ and supported only by four short, sturdy legs and razor sharp webbed claws.

"Oh, that is _**outstanding**_!" Thormod yelled at Bengerd. "Look at him. An absolute beauty. Welcome, my aggressive friend. Please – make yourself at home – lots of British to feed on!"

The Norse witch crumbled over, her strength being depleted from summoning the greatest beast on earth. Thormod went to her.

"Um – one question, oh most ugly and homicidal witch – can this fellow be hurt at all?"

Bengerd coughed. "It can be hurt. If the Brits have a particularly valiant and strong warrior, it can be hurt. However ..." she rose, gingerly trying out the strength of her thin legs, "if they break his scales, his blood will flow..." she lifted her still flashing eyes towards her master, a snide and wicked grin exposing her almost toothless mouth.

"... and kill his assailant."

xxx

Like it? Tell me good and bad. And don't worry: _Jormundgand _will be back in the next chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

Okay, one last long chapter. Sorry – I didn't know where to divide it!

To all my reviewers: I love ye all! It is so good of you to stay put and follow this to the end. Please don't hold back any criticism you can offer – I need to learn!

A/N – I mention _Vølven _towards the end. It is a reference to the Norse prophetess who wrote the _Prophecy of Ragnarok _(Doomsday). Even today, a descendant of _Vølven _resides in Iceland and give her version of the future each year at New Year's Eve.

Disclaimers: The usual stuff. Introducing, however, an OC that I will consider MINE! Thyra, the Shield Maiden.

Some trivia about Vikings that may help you understand why they react the way they do in the end of my story:

An old historian wrote this about the Norman origins, just to illustrate the way the Viking minds worked. I believe it was _François de Belleforest_, but I'm not certain in this – could also have been _Saxo Grammaticus_.

The French king, Charlemagne (Charles the Great), usually averted threats to his kingdom by buying people off or talking sense into them. When one such threat approached from the north, an army of fierce Vikings, the king sent out representatives to negotiate with the invaders. And this is allegedly how the conversation went (slightly modernised by yours truly):

"Whaddaye'want?"

"We want to burn, pillage, plunder and rape!"

"Okay – um – can't we talk about it?"

"No talk! Talk is for sissies – we will kill, maim and rob!"

"Got that. Errm … how about we just hand over some riches?"

"No honour in that! Begone, you soft despicable dog. It is time for us to fight, flatten and flog you!"

"Right. We certainly don't want that … how about we leave you fellas some land?"

"Now you're talking!"

Haha – to prove a point: the Vikings were merchants – they just had a unique way of negotiating. ;)

xxx

"Oh, wow!" Gwaine cried, "that is, without comparison, the biggest, meanest, ugliest ..."

"I get the drift," Leon said, crouching and tilting his sword upwards.

"What _are _you doing?" Belvedere asked of him.

"Um..." was Leon's reply.

"Surely you don't think for one moment that that will actually have any effect?"

"He's right, Leon," Sir Percival acknowledged, "the only sword that would stand a chance here is the Sword in the Stone. And we don't have that, do we."

Lancelot reached them, having to run against the stream of fleeing people, Vikings as well as Brits. "So how do we take this one out?" was his bright, enthusiastic question. The other knights turned to look at his happy glee with expressionless faces.

As unreasonably optimistic as Leon, Arthur turned his sword upwards. Merlin stood beside him fighting his own battle to comprehend what was happening. Concentrating on sorting out the impressions he received, he paid little heed to what Arthur was saying to him until the prince tugged his sleeve.

"**Mer**lin, wake up! You get behind me, and as soon as this sea monster lowers himself upon us, I will drive the sword into his entrails. I did it once with the Great Dragon, I can do it again."

Merlin looked askance at him; well, there was one story that Merlin was in no hurry to divulge. Yet, the fact that Arthur didn't know about it, made it so much harder to convince him that only one person could do anything about this relic of the old Norse religion. He felt the call inside of him. The ancient pull that connected him to all magical beings.

"Arthur," he said urgently, "please! You have to leave this one to me."

Arthur blinked. "No way, Merlin. This one you can_**not**_ take out discreetly."

"I can, actually ..."

"Look … if I can just find his soft spot, it really doesn't matter how big he is – he'll fall!"

"Yes," Merlin lied, "and on top of everybody and crush them to death."

Arthur looked at him. "Well … that is, of course, a risk to be reckoned with."

"It's no risk – it's a fact. Look at him! His shadow falls over the land as far as the eye can see."

"Perhaps if I just wounded him like I did the Great Dragon, he would flee and die somewhere else!"

"It is, in no way certain, that he will do that. Do you want to take that chance? He is _so _much bigger than the dragon."

They both looked up. T'is was assuredly a vision to behold. The sea serpent's massive head could easily hold an entire town between its eyes. Arthur swallowed a lump. It didn't look good, he had to admit that. For effect, the monster's eyes winked at him, and, Arthur would swear to his last dying breath, licked his non-existent lips in hungry expectation with a forked tongue. The prince was tripping, nervously.

"What exactly can you do, Merlin? If **you** strike him down, the result will be the same: All people crushed underneath his enormous body."

Merlin smiled that annoyingly all-knowing smile that he had been sporting recently.

"Oh, I have no intention of slaying it..."

x

"They are fleeing. Haha – oh, Bengerd, I owe you my greatest triumph of all times!"

Thormod was almost dancing with happiness, so engulfed by his success that he didn't notice that Bengerd was less than thrilled.

"Yeees," she hissed, "but so do your men, Thormod. You should get some control over them."

"Yeah, yeah, okay – but nothing can go wrong now, so lighten up, old bat!"

The witch didn't reply. She didn't tell her master that the feeling she had had since they engaged the British was getting stronger all the time. The feeling of another magical presence. She let her sunken old eyes scout the field to see if she could catch a glimpse.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are. Surely you will attempt to take on this challenge? But it will be beyond your powers," she smiled cruelly, "'cuz the one who could is dead. Enjoy your final battle, whoever you are."

x

"But, Merlin. No one can see you!" Arthur urged. The great shadow was closing in and making all plants and animals shrink in boundless fear and all sentient life run like madmen. The prince looked at his young sorcerer friend in concern.

"The knights know." Merlin said, "if we use them as shield, none of our soldiers will be the wiser."

"They will know _something _is up."

"I think they're busy watching the beast or fleeing," Merlin said wryly.

It took Arthur two seconds to decide and then he nodded quickly. The huge head of the sea serpent was getting awfully close.

A few barked orders, hand gestures to instruct the knights and faster than Merlin had thought possible, the knights of Camelot gathered in a semi-circle round Arthur and his manservant.

"Whatever, you see," Arthur stressed, "whatever you hear. Stay put!"

"Yessire," they cried in one voice, steeling their faces to meet the mighty opponent. Merlin added something in Arthur's ear.

"And do not – under any circumstances – touch or attack the monster."

"Yessire!"

The formation was ready. Arthur tipped his sword upwards, just in case, and Merlin took a deep breath. What Arthur was about to see might opt him to put two and two together. _**Gawd**_, he hoped not.

Finally, when Jormundgand was as close as he dared to let it be, Merlin's eyes were lit within and he filled his lungs with cold, sea smelling air and let out the roar his dragonlord ancestry instilled in him:

_**WOoooaah, Jormundgand. Nán dyd ǽlc áciere miss. Eftsíðas eom ála cræt. Géate stǽr ábære gárrǽs. Géate cyre. Mé tácen átende diegollice. Car grise áþes. **_

Arthur and the knights almost felt the earth tremble under Merlin's words again. The guttural, growling sound that left the sorcerer's throat echoed in their minds and left them stunned and a little frightened. In response, a soft rumbling came from above their heads and the wind started blowing as the massive serpent head fell more quickly through the air.

Arthur and the knights held their breath. Merlin's facial expression was one of steel.

And then it happened.

The monster bowed his head, averted his eyes – in humility.

Far from there, a high pitched scream of frustration and anger cut through the chilly air. A witch was pulling at her hair despondently.

"Now, go! Return to your bottomless sea pit and kill no more. You will answer to only me from now on."

The leviathan raised his head and opened his glowing eyes to fix them at Merlin.

"You are the chosen one, Emrys," he whispered to the warlock, his voice peculiarly crystal clear and gentle, "you will lead minions and carry the fate of this country on your shoulders. I am of a dying breed. The world now belongs to the humans; the old religion is dying."

"Your time is over," Merlin agreed in a gentler voice, "Yet you will live on in legends. Go in peace."

Jormundgand bowed again, drippled the last drop of sea water on the crowd and started to retract its head and long body. Its action started another earth quake and 200 yards tall tsunamis washed over the shores as it dived into the darkness of the ocean.

It took a while for the knights to grasp the fact that the monster was gone. Soaked to the bone, the knights were still holding their swords in an upright position, ready for use. Merlin, of course, had long understood that the creature had retracted and sent Arthur a tentative look. The prince was, like his knights, staring at the south where the beast had gone. Finally he turned, sensing the sorcerer's gaze. He blinked at him and then opened his mouth to utter absolute nonsense.

"He … you … the monster … I ..."

Merlin patiently gave him the time he needed. Then Arthur, and the knights taking the cue from their leader, lowered their weapons, the prince's gaze never letting go of his sorcerer friend.

"You _spoke _to him! He spoke to you! You both spoke!"

That certainly covered it, Merlin thought and attempted a crisp smile.

"Yup," he said gently, "we spoke to each other."

"How?" Arthur insisted on knowing, "I mean … how did you know... have you met before?"

Merlin couldn't help laughing at that thought. "No, we didn't meet before."

"Are you absolutely sure?" the prince asked, suspicious.

"I think I would have noticed speaking to a serpent of that size. Yes, I'm positive. Let's just say that I have had dealings with a distant cousin of his."

Arthur didn't make the connection at first. He idly sensed that the knights had left the semi-circle and were beginning to ferret up the fleeing soldiers all the while his mind was working. And that's when it hit him.

"_**You**_! _**I**_... The dragon!" he exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Merlin. The warlock bit his lip which was all the confirmation Arthur needed.

"I don't **believe** it," he said, upset, "You … you talked to the Great Dragon? When was this. Tell me! Tell me everything!"

Telling him everything, Merlin thought, would mostly likely get him killed. He still hadn't forgiven himself for unleashing the dragon. How, then, could he expect Arthur to forgive him. He had been the cause of so many deaths …

Arthur, misinterpreting his suddenly hurt expression, said: "It's all right. You can tell me."

"It was right after you had dealt him a blow with your sword. He knocked you over, and I … talked to him like I just talked to the sea serpent."

Arthur cocked an eyebrow.

"Mortal blow, eh? Tell me something, Merlin …. is that big lummock still alive?"

Merlin suddenly found his feet exceedingly interesting. "He might be," he murmured in such a low voice that Arthur had to strain his ears to hear the words. The prince threw his hands into the air, sighing with irritation.

"In other words, you lied to me _**again**_!"

"Well, I pretty damn well couldn't tell you, could I? Do you know what Uther would do to a dragonlord?"

"_Dragonlord_?" Arthur spun round, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

Oops. As amazing as it seemed, Arthur hadn't seen through that one and Merlin had just handed it to him on a silver plate.

"Explain something to me, Merlin," he said, approaching with his hands on his hips, "how is it that we had to travel through half of England to find Balinor when in our own backyard, you could have done the job just as efficiently? Which you did, apparently, just bloomingly _**late**_! You could have stopped that beast ages ago! Do you know how many people died that day?"

Merlin winced. Yes, he knew. He had memorised the death tolls as a particularly advanced way to punish himself.

"It doesn't work like that," he said, still looking down, "I didn't get those powers until Balinor died."

"Why? What does Balinor have to do with it?"

Merlin continued to stare at the ground for a while, and then finally raised his eyes to meet Arthur's angry blue orbs. The prince gasped silently as endless pain virtually peered through the sorcerer's glance.

"The gift is passed …." he said, sobs creeping into his broken voice.

He couldn't go on and he didn't have to. Arthur finished the sentence for him:

"... from father to son.."

Everything clicked into place that very moment. Merlin's tears back then and his uncharacteristic silence on the journey out, including his reluctance to talk about it. _My god_, the prince thought, _Balinor was his father and he died in his arms_.

Not another word was uttered between them; they stood still, looking at each other while the world round them went mad and started fighting again and the sound of metal against metal reached their ears. Merlin's face was a picture of deeply embedded grief and Arthur's was one of shock and confused empathy.

Then, eventually, the war round them insisted on having their attention again.

x

When Dusk let her dark blue velvet blanket fall over her busy children, the battle was finally abating. Camelot's warriors had captured about 174 Vikings, a few were fleeing with knights hard on their heels and the rest were dead. About 350 were left of Camelot's allied army. It had been a bloody mess.

Arthur was keenly aware of the fact that had they not had Merlin in their midst, the result would have been very different; the young warlock had politely asked the mighty sea monster to go hang, he had had Arthur's back all through the way and towards the end, he had sent a ripple through the ground that had flattened by far most of the Vikings. The prince had been on the point of berating him for that one until he saw the result. No one had known where that extra earth quake came from and thought it simply dumb luck that its epicentre was located in the Vikings' midst. No need to thump Merlin for that one.

Putting the issue of Merlin aside in his mind, Arthur turned to address the aggressor and his … grandmother … or whoever it was that seemed glued to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin lean towards him and then heard him hissing in his ear:

"That's her. She's the one who summoned Jormundgand."

Arthur blinked once. Gramps, indeed. Then he spoke to the chieftain.

"I do not know if you understand me, but I offer you peace."

The broad wall in front of the prince cocked an eyebrow and turned his head, bellowing:

"_**Thyra**_!"

A tall, slim warrior with thick, tawny tresses in long braids stepped forth to join him. It was one of the women the Vikings had included in the army.

"_I kan sætte jer på denne her og snurre rundt_!", she said and extended a finger, clearly illustrating what she meant. The chieftain grinned. The message was clear: If their women were like this, how could the British expect the men to submit?

"We need better communication," Merlin murmured and leaned over to touch the shield maiden lightly between the eyes before she had a chance to retract. She jerked her head backwards as if she had been burnt, then her hand shot to the place where she usually carried her sword. However, as she had been disarmed, her finger grabbed uselessly in thin air and she hissed with annoyance and let out a string of foul language …

…. which all the knights, including Arthur and Merlin suddenly understood perfectly.

"_You take your hands off of me, you filthy jætte of a useless bucket of shit. I will crush your worthless skull underneath my feet before I let you do that ag..._"

Then she stopped abruptly, surprised with what came out of her mouth. Thormod gaped at her, the gramps at his side cocked an eyebrow and Arthur jerked back his head a little.

"Well," the prince said, "now that _that_ has been established..."

"We offer you peace," he repeated, "and a place to stay if you join us and swear allegiance to Camelot. You have shown yourself worthy!"

Despite herself, Thyra translated this to Thormod, who looked at her and Arthur attentively. He stood mulling it over for a second or two. The old bat offered her bit in a language the Brits didn't understand, and then they saw the massive Viking nod and turn back to his shield maiden. She relayed his answer.

"Our mighty and wise chieftain, Thormod, son of Thorgil, finds your proposal interesting – he wishes to know what land he can expect? Furthermore, Bengerd, our most vicious witch, tells us that you have in your midst, the most powerful and legendary warlock of all times."

"Eerrm," said Arthur, looking askance to his knights and soldiers (blast the woman!), "sure we do. And if you give us your allegiance, you will be under his protection as well."

Arthur swore under his breath; he would have to find an explanation for this when he got back to Camelot.

x

And so it was. The remains of the Camelot allied forces picked up their dead and set out to return to Camelot, hearth and home. The field that had hosted such a great and devastating battle was dark and red with blood and smelled of sea water to bear witness to a visit from ancient mythology. Merlin was riding the Viking horse that had carried him to Arthur when he had lost sight of his prince; he had named it Freya – to commemorate the love of his life. Next to him trotted Thyra, the shield maiden whom he had given the English language. More than once he offered her the horse, but every time she rejected his kindness, clearly insulted to the bone. Merlin shook his head in wonder; some people he would never understand.

"Why did you come here in the first place?" he asked the young woman. Thyra turned her dishevelled head and fixed two water blue eyes on him, her features were that of a mountain wolf and her voice was equally predatory when she opened her mouth.

"You must know, _Emrys_. After all, you **are **the legend. Bengerd summoned _Vølven_, and she told her the prophecy of the all-powerful Sword in the Stone. As soon as he heard, Thormod wanted it."

"? Really? Prophecy? But why now?"

"Bengerd suddenly felt its power through her magical mind. She knew, then, that the prophecy was about to come true, and that is was time to conquer it before anyone else did."

The young sorcerer turned his attention what was coming, and now thought of his homecoming with a great deal of anxiety and trepidation. After all, here on these killing fields, Arthur had needed him. But what would happen in Camelot? Uther would still be there, mad or not, reminding sin son of the treacherous nature of magic. Or perhaps the soldiers had seen what had happened between Merlin and the shield maiden and demand that Arthur do something about his magical manservant? Or what if Morgana returned, stronger than ever? He hadn't felt her die when he sent that ball of power back at her. Most likely, she was just somewhere licking her wounds with that eerie child monster of hers.

These and other dark thoughts made the young man shiver with cold. All of a sudden, he wasn't that keen on returning to his home. Gwaine saw this pale young man blanch even further and rode to his side.

"Hey! How are you?" he asked, his voice tired and full of concern.

"Exhausted," Merlin mumbled. "And more," Gwaine insisted.

"Yes," Merlin admitted, sighing. "After all this, Gwaine," he added, "I'm not at all sure about my future in Camelot."

"Are you kidding? You saved us all! You practically won the battle for us! You're the hero, Merlin."

The warlock turned and pinned two very apprehensive eyes on the knight.

"No that's not fair, Gwaine. You all fought so hard and had so much to lose. I … I always had magic to employ. My life was never really in any danger."

"Except from Arthur," Gwaine pointed out gently.

"Except from Arthur," Merlin agreed silently.

"You're worried what will happen when we return and your powers are no more crucial to survival?"

Merlin nodded, looking down again.

"Merlin," Gwaine said intently, "you will be needed more than ever! You think these were the last of our enemies? We still have a country to unite."

And with those words, Gwaine rode on.

Well, perhaps his friend was right. It still didn't mean that Arthur would see it this way, though.

However, more encouraged than before, Merlin heeled his tough little steed, who willingly speeded up and made the shield maiden trot faster, much to her delight.

There would be another day. There would be other quests, particularly one sword had to be pulled out like a sore tooth.

There would be another chance to prove oneself.

THE END

Or is it? Not bloody likely. We do have that sword to retrieve.

You can read more about that adventure in a sequel to come. Not really sure how to knit together that story yet, so I don't have a title for you. But it will be done eventually. :-)

Other than that: please tell me your honest opinion of this one so that I may have an opportunity to better myself in the sequel. Thanks ever so much in advance.


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